


Just Like You

by JoMouse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Hockey Player Derek Hale, Hospitalization, Illnesses, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Pining, Road Trips, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Social Media, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMouse/pseuds/JoMouse
Summary: Stiles answers an ad on the rideshare board at school for someone looking for a ride home to Beacon Hills for the holidays. What are the odds that it's Derek Hale, the guys he's denied having a crush on since he was five years old. How bad could it be to spend a couple of days in the car alone with him?Written forThe 12 Days of Sterekevent.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 21
Kudos: 354
Collections: 12 Days of Sterek





	Just Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!
> 
> I had fun writing this story even though these idiots decided to do their own thing every time I thought I had a handle on things.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> Big thanks to [Marie](http://quietzap.tumblr.com) for the beta and to her and Jenn for the cheerleading; I'd never write another word without these two wonderful ladies!
> 
> xx-Joey
> 
> Don't know 'em. Don't own 'em. Don't show 'em.

Stiles pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he made his way up the stairs between the bleachers, eyes peeled for his roommate Scott and Allison, the girl he'd been dating for the last couple of months. There hadn’t been any definite plans to attend the game together, but they all had season tickets and hadn’t missed one yet, so he risked the assumption they would be there.

Pausing halfway up, he stopped to peruse the ice where the University Team was warming up. After only a moment, his eyes found and locked onto number 12, ‘Hale’ emblazoned above the number in blue. Smiling he continued up the stairs until he found the one where he usually sat, his smile fading when he saw it was empty. Checking his watch, he saw that the game wouldn’t start for at least fifteen minutes; it was too early to worry about their absence.

Moving down the row to leave just enough room for Scott and Allison, he sat down, hissing at the cold of the metal seeping through his jeans into his butt. For the umpteenth time he thought about buying one of the WWU Vikings’ seat cushions, but that would be admitting to being a regular attendant of the games and he didn't want to delve that deep into his psyche when he didn't even care about the actual sport of hockey that much outside of one specific player. His eyes continued to trail number 12, his focus so intense that he didn't even notice Scott until he'd dropped down on the bench next to him, waving a cup of hot chocolate under his nose. 

"You made it," Stiles said, grabbing the cup and taking a deep drink, hissing out through his teeth as the scalding liquid hit his tongue. One day he would learn to wait for it to cool down, but it wasn’t going to be that day.

"Yeah. I was going to skip because I have that Anatomy exam tomorrow, but Allison convinced me we should come since we haven't missed one yet," Scott said, eyes going soft as he smiled at his girlfriend who was already focused on the ice, eyes flitting from player to player. “Something about tradition and luck.”

Stiles laughed and grinned down at Allison who had yet to look away from the ice. He came to the games for one player, Allison came for the game. He’d learned more about the sport in a couple of months of knowing her than he had in all his years of watching Hale play.

"Where's Lahey?" she asked. "Hasn't he recovered from his injury in the game against UCLA?"

"What?" Stiles asked, mind going over what she'd said, trying to place the name and remember anything that had happened at the last game.

"Lahey. The Left Wing that got boarded last week? Carried out on a stretcher..." She looked away from the ice but her eyes were so full of judgment, Stiles wished she would look back.

After a moment of thought, Stiles snapped his fingers and nodded in recognition as he remembered the incident that had prompted the fight that had gotten Derek Hale thrown into the penalty box for five minutes for roughing. On the plus side, the UCLA player that had sent Lahey to the hospital had gotten a warning that if he tried that crap again, he'd be thrown out of the game and recommended for a suspension. Stiles huffed at the memory; if the referee had just penalized the player for boarding, there wouldn’t have been any need for Hale to deliver justice for his teammate.

Stiles knew better than to mention that because every time he tried to list off one of Derek's stats or something he'd done, Scott would get this look on his face. The look was very similar to the one that he himself used to give Scott when he'd first started coming back to their shared room after classes babbling about the pretty brunette in his Intro to Chemistry class. He refused to acknowledge that his interest in Derek was anything like Scott's interest in Allison, no matter how many years he'd been denying it, first to his father and then to Scott and Allison.

The team was leaving the ice when one of the players swatted Derek's shoulder and pointed in their general direction. Derek turned his head and Stiles ducked down to tie his already tied shoes. He had no idea why he hid from Derek’s view, it wasn’t like he would recognize him and chances were his teammate was pointing to someone else. Stiles needed to learn to leave his paranoia at home. When he straightened back up, the team was off the ice. He glanced over at Scott and Allison when he heard laughter. Even though they were facing the ice and their heads were pressed together, he knew their laughter was at his expense; it was always at his expense. He lifted one hand to flip them off and their laughter grew louder, Allison burying her face in Scott’s shoulder. He raised the other hand to mirror the gesture as the horn blew indicating the game was about to start.

The game was fascinating as always and, of course, their team won. The other team didn't stand a chance and by the end of the second period, he was pretty sure they'd given up and just stood by while Derek and his teammates flew past them to score goals. There weren't even any penalties to keep it interesting, but Stiles still recorded the stats in the notebook he brought to every game. When Scott had asked him about it the first time, he'd told him that it was so he could remember everything to tell his dad after the game.

His dad always asked about the games because he knew Stiles would go to see Derek play. Watching Derek on the ice wasn’t something new for Stiles, he’d started doing it when he was five years old. His mom had signed him up for Pee Wee Hockey but he’d never skated before so she’d enlisted Derek Hale, three years older and a coach’s kid, to teach him to skate. No matter how patient Derek had been or how much effort and time the both of them put into the lessons, Stiles could not keep upright. The only thing that came out of those lessons was a massive case of hero worship for Stiles. 

After just one season, numerous bloody noses and lost teeth, Stiles gave up on ice hockey, switching to lacrosse. His parents had thought that without the ice he would be much more successful, but it turned out he wasn't much more adept at lacrosse. He hadn’t given up though because it was still a lot of fun for him and by the time he’d reached high school, he’d made the team. He spent a lot of time on the bench, but he did manage to score a game-winning goal his senior year and get a writeup in the local paper and everything. His father still had the article framed on the wall at their home.

Despite the fact he'd quit playing hockey, his mother would gleefully take him to the arena to watch Derek play when he asked. She teased him about the notebook he kept, filled with print outs of Derek’s team’s schedule and the scores he would write next to each one in his childish scrawl. Despite the teasing, she would get him to every game and cheer just as loudly as Stiles did. They’d very rarely missed one until his mother had gotten sick. While she was in the hospital, there was no one to take him and the one time he did go with one of his dad’s deputies, he’d started crying when the man talked too much distracting him from the game. 

After that, he'd vowed never to go to a game again until she got better and could go with him. After she’d died, his grief was too strong to even think about hockey. His dad had tried to drown his own grief with a bottle, so even if Stiles had wanted to go to games without her, he wouldn’t have been able to get there. As the years went on, it got easier to forget about hockey and Derek Hale.

It wasn't until Stiles had gotten to college and seen a poster of the hockey team, his eyes drawn to a familiar, yet not, face. When he’d matched the face up to Derek’s name on the roster, curiosity got the best of him and he’d bought a ticket to the first home game. He stood outside the arena, Scott by his side, unable to bring himself to walk through the doors until Scott took him back to the dorm. 

The next morning he bought a ticket to the next game and made it to the concession stand, Scott by his side sharing the nachos Stiles had bought. They left once the cheese was cold. They kept buying tickets and going to the arena until the tenth game of the year when he’d actually called his father to tell him what he was doing and Sheriff John Stilinski told him his mom would’ve been proud of him.

He'd only made it through the first fifteen minutes of that game but each consecutive game he’d managed to stay longer and longer until he was making it through the entire thing. Keeping track of the stats helped him to focus on what was happening on the ice and keep his mind off his mother.

At the end of Stiles’ first year, Hale had been injured badly enough that he hadn’t returned to the ice for the rest of the season; there had even been talk that his career was over. Stiles hadn’t attended any of the games Hale sat out, calling it a coincidence when questioned because it was the end of term and he was bogged down with projects. No one believed him; he couldn’t blame them since he knew it was a lie even before he said it. It didn’t matter if he wanted to lie to everyone, including himself, about Derek’s influence on his game attendance, it wasn’t hurting anyone.

The game ended and Stiles gathered his notebook, placing it in his backpack and hurrying down the stands until he reached the door. He never hung around after the game, ready to get back out into the slightly warmer weather after the chill of the arena. He waited until Scott and Allison caught up, the two of them wrapped around each other like they were actually one being, nauseating Stiles. "Okay, that's enough PDA for today," Stiles teased as he pushed between them, hooking his arms through each of theirs and tugging them towards the parking lot and his trusty blue Jeep to take them out for their usual after game dinner at the diner.

At the beginning of December, the first snowfall hit campus, covering it in a thick blanket of snow. Being from California, snow was still a bit of a novelty to Stiles, so his excitement was palpable. Bundling up in every warm piece of clothing he owned, he hesitated before wrapping the blue scarf his mom had knitted for him shortly before she’d died around his neck. He held the ends up to his face inhaling deeply, her scent long gone but the plush yarn dried up the tear that escaped before he released it and shouted for Scott. Scott was from Montana, so the snow was nothing new to him and although he was less than impressed by Stiles' antics, he followed him dutifully down the stairs, zipping up his jacket. 

Scott's mood improved somewhat once they'd made it outside and Stiles threw himself face-first into the snow and started moving his arms and legs up and down. "What are you doing?" Scott asked, laughing.

"Making snow angels!" Stiles responded as he tried to stand up without ruining the mess he'd created in the snow.

Scott tilted his head. "Well, the technique was wrong, but I give a solid six-point-five to the outcome," he said, laughing even harder when Stiles took out his phone to take a picture and post it on his Instagram.

Stiles was slightly addicted to Instagram. He didn't have many followers, but the ones he did were loyal and usually pretty quick to respond. The fastest was usually  _ Wolfman12 _ and this time was no different. There was a like almost immediately and a couple of seconds later, he left a comment about how he preferred his snow through a window while sitting in front of a roaring fire cuddling under a blanket. Stiles replied,  _ "That sounds like heaven, but I'm going to enjoy this snow while I still can. Heading back home to California for the holidays soon. No snow there." _ A response of  _ "Same" _ came a minute later and Stiles gaped at his phone. In the year or so that Wolfy, as he called him in his head, had been following him, he'd never revealed anything personal about himself through words or photos and his bio was empty, so to find out he was from California as well made Stiles feel a bit giddy.

"Wolfy, again?" Scott asked just as he pelted Stiles with a snowball, distracting him from overthinking.

"Oh, it is on!" Stiles shouted, pocketing his phone and grabbing a handful of snow and struggling to pack it into a decent snowball. Scott hit him with three more snowballs before he finally managed to get a decent enough one smashed together. In his excitement, he threw it blindly in the general direction that the last one had come from. 

"What the fuck?" he heard in a voice that was definitely not Scott's and he looked up, freezing as a very angry and snow-covered Derek Hale glared in his direction. Stiles could tell the moment he spotted him. Derek froze, his eyes widened momentarily before he started stalking towards him.

Derek had only gotten two steps closer when Stiles’ flight response kicked in and he starting slipping and sliding on the snow, but he managed to make it back to his dorm and inside before Derek caught up with him. He dove behind one of the couches in the lobby, lying on his stomach on the floor, he peeked around the corner as Derek paced back and forth in front of the doors. Stiles saw Scott approach and Derek talked to him, gesturing towards the doors. Scott shook his head and backed away, disappearing from Stiles' vision. Derek stayed outside of the door for another five minutes before looking at his watch, his shoulders rising and falling in an enormous sigh. He glanced through the door again before pulling a scarf around his neck and turning to race down the stairs. 

A few minutes later, Scott let himself into the building, looking over his shoulder as he did so. "Dude!" Scott shouted. "You pelted Derek Hale! He was trying to find you!" Scott always talked in exclamation points when he was worked up about something but at least he wasn’t screaming in all caps. “HE WANTED ME TO LET HIM IN!” Or maybe he was.

"Thanks for not doing it," Stiles said from his hiding spot on the floor next to the couch.

"Of course not! Your safety is my first priority. You gonna get up now?"

He shook his head. "No. I think I'll just hang out here until it gets dark and I can escape to our room without the risk of Derek seeing me."

"You're safe," Scott told him, reaching down and grabbing his hand to pull him to his feet. "I saw him get into this sick black car and drive off. I think that Erica girl from my English class was with him."

Stiles' shoulders slumped as he glanced toward the windows lining the front of the building, showing the beautiful snow-covered grass he'd been so excited about earlier but now he was afraid to set foot outside of the dorm. He didn't want to die; he was too young and he couldn't leave his father alone. He felt guilty enough for going to school in another state and leaving him alone during the school year. 

Following Scott and checking over his shoulder every time he heard a noise behind him, Stiles posted a photo of the stairwell with a caption of,  _ "Never leaving ever again." _ He wasn't even to the top of the steps when there was a notification: “ _ Wolfman12 commented on your photo: I'll miss you! ;)” _ Stiles responded with a kissy face emoji, face warming when Wolfy liked the comment. 

Stumbling into his room behind Scott, he kicked off his boots and hung his coat over the back of his chair, eyes falling on the calendar hanging on his closet door. Red x's covered the days leading up to the current one and a large red circle adorned the twentieth of December, the day of his last exam. A quick sketch of his Jeep, lovingly called Roscoe, was on the twenty-first when he could get behind the wheel and head back home to his dad for a month. That was one of his favorite things about the university; they had really long breaks so he had plenty of time to drive home and back so he didn’t have to shell out of plane tickets. Unfortunately, it meant that he couldn’t go home as often as he would like.

Gathering together his books, Stiles climbed up into his loft and set up to start studying for his Intro to Germanic Folklore exam. He'd kept up on the reading, but he'd done so much extra research, he wasn't sure what exactly the professor would be looking for on the exam and wanted to go over the study guides and replay a couple of the lectures. Once he was up in the loft, he heard Scott settle onto his own bed with earbuds in and a video game going on the television. Stiles forced his attention away from the screen because Scott tried not to distract him from his studies and was actually a pretty cool roommate overall.

They'd gone in blind their freshman year, Stiles nervous about living with a stranger but one look at Scott's eager smile and he'd relaxed. It hadn't taken long for the two to hit it off and become close enough that Allison had thought they'd been friends since kindergarten. It was a no-brainer to room together again their second year; they were even already looking into apartments for the following year.

A couple of hours later, a soft dart bounced off the center of his computer screen. Grinning, Stiles pulled out one of his earbuds and smiled down at Scott who was still holding a Nerf gun at the ready. "I'm going to get dinner. Are you coming or do you want me to bring you something back?"

Checking the time on his phone, Stiles glanced towards the window where darkness had fallen meaning that the cafeteria in their building was closed. He wasn't quite ready to leave and risk running into Derek and his wrath so he shook his head. "I'm good. I can always make some ramen later."

"I'll bring you something back," Scott said, laughing and grabbing his keys off the hooks by the door, settling the Nerf gun on the shelf above them and heading out the door. 

Stiles returned to his work but had only gotten two more minutes of a lecture watched when his phone rang. "Hey, pops!" he greeted, grinning when his father chuckled on the other end.

"Please tell me that you’re not in your bed studying and are at a party and just asked everyone to be deadly quiet while you talked to your father," he said. His father worried that he spent too much time studying and not enough being social. For an officer of the law, he certainly encouraged delinquent behavior in his child an awful lot.

"No such luck. I have that Folklore exam on Monday and I'm stressing." He shut down his computer, figuring he'd at least take a bit of a break to talk to his dad and then heat up some ramen. He might even play a couple of rounds of 2048 before returning to his studying.

"Germanic or Russian?" his father asked. Although the man had been confused about Stiles' desire to study folklore as a minor, he was on top of things and showed genuine interest in the classwork. Stiles had even sent him copies of some of the stories that they'd been reading and they'd spent a few phone calls discussing them. It was a big help to Stiles and he thought it made his father feel a little less disconnected from his life.

"Germanic. Russian doesn't have any exams except the final, so that will be in a couple of weeks. It's actually the last one I take before I head home."

"Can't wait to see you." His father's voice was quiet and Stiles blinked back a couple of tears.

"Me, too, pops," he said. "I have to go through the house and get rid of all the junk food."

"You are not throwing away my junk food," he protested.

"You're right. I'm not." His dad let out a sigh of relief. "I'm going to eat it and anything I can't finish before my break is over will come back to school with me and Scott will eat it. The guy's a living garbage disposal, I swear!" 

"Can't wait to meet him finally," his father said. Originally, Scott was going to come home with Stiles for a couple of days at the beginning of the break and then fly home to Montana, but his mother had called to say that they were going to go on a cruise through Christmas so Scott was going to fly down for New Year's instead. "I'll let you go so you can get back to studying."

"Thanks, but I think I’ll take an old guy’s advice and take a break to get some food and play violent video games.”

His father sounded a lot more relaxed as they hung up and Stiles smiled to himself as he pressed his fingers to the photograph of him with his parents from before his mom had gotten sick. It was taken at a Fourth of July celebration in Beacon Hills, the background was crowded with people, a banner for the picnic hung over a group taking a selfie behind them. He barely remembered the picnic, it'd been a whirlwind of activity of which he only had vague memories. His mother going into the hospital a week later fogged over everything he tried to remember from that summer.

Sighing, he shook himself to reset his mind onto a happier path. It was something that one of his counselors had taught him although the woman had meant a mental shake and he actually took it to mean physically shaking his entire body. Scott teased him once about it until Stiles had explained and now he'd noticed his roommate doing the same thing at times. He kept being reminded of how lucky he’d gotten in the roommate pool, even if Scott was a bit of a slob. Stiles picked up a pair of socks and threw them towards Scott's bed.

Peeking through the window, he saw the moonlight sparkling on the snow and he wanted to take some photos to post and send to his dad. He hurriedly dressed in his warm clothes, digging around when he couldn’t find his scarf, but eventually shrugged it off and grabbed his keys, making his way down the stairs and out of the building. He looked around quickly and didn't spot any car fitting the description that Scott had given earlier so he hoped that meant that Derek was nowhere nearby and he'd be safe. 

Checking the time on his phone before he took a few pictures, he started to walk towards the one cafeteria that stayed open late on campus. It was located in the basement of the library, something he thought was pretty ingenious and if he ever got the opportunity to meet the person who came up with that idea, he would shake their hands. He climbed the stairs to the building, pausing at the glass doors while fiddling with his phone, steps faltering when a familiar set of shoulders caught his eye. 

Derek was standing behind the checkout desk of the library, back to the doors. He was leaned over, one hand on a desk and the other on the back of the chair where a woman with long brown hair sat. She was looking up at Derek with a flirtatious smile on her face and Stiles rolled his eyes as he imagined the obnoxious laugh that matched the movement of her mouth and shoulders. He took great pleasure in the eye roll Derek gave as soon as the woman turned back to her computer. 

Someone cleared their throat and he whirled around to find a student standing behind him with an armful of books. "Can you get the door for me?" he asked and Stiles looked between him and the door, seeing that Derek was no longer where he'd been a moment earlier.

Nodding, Stiles grabbed the door and held it open for the student, about to let go when Derek started to walk through it, fighting to put his arm through one sleeve of his always-present leather jacket while thumbing through his phone with the other. He muttered, “Thanks,” once he was through the door and headed towards the parking lot without even looking up. Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief, standing there holding the door open until the woman that had been flirting with Derek whisper-shouted at him to stop letting in the cold air. Rolling his eyes, he let go of the door and continued on to the cafeteria.

The next few days passed by in a blur of routine; Stiles went to class, to hockey games and studied. It wasn't until Friday when he was done working his once-a-week shift at the coffee shop that he saw Derek again. He'd managed to get through his shift without breaking anything or injuring himself, something his manager rewarded with a free Death Wish coffee. He was sipping at it as he hurried out of the shop to get back to his room to change clothes because there was a hockey game that night and he had a paper to turn in online before meeting Scott and Allison at the arena in a couple of hours.

He'd only taken two steps when he hit a brick wall and his coffee went flying. The wall hissed and Stiles' eyes flew upward and met a pair of green eyes that glittered dangerously. "You," Derek hissed as he stepped backward, pulling his coffee-soaked shirt away from his skin. 

"I'm so sorry!" Stiles yelped, trying to pat ineffectively at Derek's shirt with his gloves that he hadn't slipped on yet, frowning when Derek swatted his hands away with a growl. He started to apologize again, but Derek had already turned on his heel and stormed away, his voice a low rumble as Stiles strained to hear what evil things he was being called. Picking up the cup from where it had fallen, he threw it in the nearest trash can and went back to his room suddenly wanting to do anything other than the hockey game.

Scott had been shocked when Stiles had texted to tell him he wasn't going to the game. He said he'd been asked to stay late at work and hoped that Scott wouldn't stop by to check on him or bring him something to eat or any other ridiculously sweet thing he might do that would catch Stiles in the lie. Instead, Stiles got into his Jeep and headed off-campus. He didn't really have a destination in mind, but he had a nearly full tank of gas and no desire to arrive anywhere.

He drove in random directions for about an hour, knowing he wasn't far from campus but unfamiliar with the area. Most of the students hung out south of campus, but he was in an area to the north where he suspected a lot of non-students lived as the apartment buildings and houses were nicer than he was used to seeing. He spotted a small strip of stores on his left, most of the business dark but a neon sign above one door advertising "Coach's Cafeteria" drew his attention. Parking, Stiles climbed out of the Jeep and headed inside where he was greeted by the warm aroma of chili and a shout from a crazy-haired man in a tracksuit behind the counter.

"Get your butt in here and stop letting the heat out!" he shouted and Stiles found himself obeying, an unbidden smile breaking across his face.

Stiles looked around. The restaurant was set up like a school cafeteria. Food to choose from was in a line of metal serving dishes behind glass sneeze guards with a place to slide trays along in front and a cash register at the other end. A chalkboard menu was on the wall above where the trays were stored that advertised chili dogs and curly fries. Grabbing a tray, Stiles made his way down the line towards the cash register. "I'm Coach," the man said when Stiles was in front of him with his tray.

"Stiles."

"What the hell is a Stiles?" the man snapped as he threw together two chili dogs and a large plate of curly fries, adding extra after getting a look at Stiles' face. 

"Stiles is me," he said, making grabby hands as Coach handed the plates over the glass counter before turning to shout over his shoulder.

"Greenburg! We need more dogs!" Turning back to the front, Coach followed Stiles along the counter. "What do you want for dessert? We have pudding, jello, and ice cream cups."

"I feel like I'm back in high school," he said, pointing at the jello cup and holding up two fingers.

"That's the point," Coach told him before grabbing a glass and handing it to him. "The drinks are over there. Free refills. The WiFi password is on one of the posters on the walls, but damned if I can remember which one."

Stiles laughed as he dug in his pocket and paid the extremely reasonable price for everything that was on his tray and was still laughing as he went to fill his glass. Coach was yelling at the still unseen Greenburg and greeting another group of kids who came in through the door talking loudly. Searching the room, Stiles found a table in one corner that only had four chairs while most of the others had six to ten, so he wouldn't feel like he was taking up much room.

He settled into one of the seats and took a sip of his soda as he scanned the room, finally finding the WiFi password scrawled at the bottom of a poster for  _ Independence Day.  _ He wondered briefly at the use of 'mankind' for a password but as he heard Coach shout loudly for Greenburg to get the lead out, he decided he didn't want to work that hard to figure out the man's thought processes.

He noticed quite a few students had laptops out and schoolbooks scattered across the tabletop. One table was having a heated debate regarding the melting point of Isomalt and he couldn't figure out if they were culinary or chemistry majors. Shrugging, he pulled out his phone; he didn’t feel like going back out into the snow to get his laptop from the Jeep. The first thing he did was pull up reviews for Coach's Cafeteria and found out it was rated fairly high. The highest ratings came from students who regularly missed the closings of the cafeterias on campus and found Coach’s twenty-four-seven hours a godsend. It was also a big plus that the establishment allowed students to sit for as long as they needed provided they bought something; even if it was just a one-dollar bottomless soda. 

"That lunatic is a genius," Stiles muttered before opening his Twitter app to check the score of the game on the hockey team Twitter account. It was still loading when a text from Scott came through. Switching screens, he pulled up the message, having to read through it twice in an attempt to understand. 

_ Ur boi hrt. _

Rolling his eyes, he figured it was just a mess of letters due to Scott trying to text with gloves on, so he sent back a string of question marks before switching back to Twitter, stopping when he heard Coach curse behind the counter followed by, "What do you mean he's hurt?"

Stiles' phone buzzed again and he saw the message was from Allison this time. Switching over, it was a photo of the ice. Paramedics were standing around someone sitting up and leaning against another player, their helmet nowhere to be seen and their black hair laying matted to their forehead. One of the paramedics was knelt in front of the player with a flashlight pointed at his eyes. 

"Your boy hurt," Stiles whispered, finally understanding as he took in the large number twelve on the back of the jersey underneath four simple letters - HALE.

Allison’s message underneath the picture was unsurprising given her superstitious manner regarding sports:  _ You can't miss anymore games. _

As if his own superstitious mind hadn't already gone there, Allison’s message sealed the deal and ruined his appetite. He stood from the table, carrying his full tray towards the garbage, stopping when Coach approached him with a couple of carryout containers, including a cup with a straw. "Need these?" he asked, his voice much quieter now and Stiles nodded, taking them and transferring his food with shaking hands. "Drive safe," Coach called after him as he left the restaurant.

Once in his Jeep, Stiles finally checked the hockey team’s Twitter account to see that Derek had been sent to the hospital with a suspected concussion. One of the players from the other team got a game misconduct penalty for high sticking resulting in injury and would be sitting out for a minimum of ten minutes of play. Stiles thought that penalty wasn't nearly enough but short of removal from the game, he knew it was the stiffest the guy could get.

Turning the key, Stiles chewed his lip when it hesitated to start. Roscoe was old and mostly reliable, but had never had to deal with winter before so Stiles wasn't completely confident he would survive the cold. After a brief hesitation he roared to life and Stiles sent up a thanks to the car gods before pulling back out onto the road, heading towards campus. He arrived back at his room and put the leftovers in the fridge, stomach still twisting as he kept checking for updates and finding none. 

At some point, he must have fallen asleep because he nearly fell out of his bed when Scott came into the room, banging the door open against the wall. "Bro!" Scott shouted.

"Dude," Stiles groaned, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow.

"You should've been there!" Scott stomped around the room, kicking his shoes off so they landed in a pile somewhere near the pile of his shoes that occupied one corner of the room and pulled his jeans off, leaving himself in a shirt and boxers. He turned off the room light before he climbed into his own bed. "Boyd kicked the guy that hit Derek's ass! Ended up getting removed from the game, but the whole arena was cheering him on."

"Any updates on Derek?" Stiles mumbled, rolling to his side and managing to get his own jeans off, hanging them over the side rail of his bed. 

"Nah," Scott said, voice quieting. "He looked pretty out of it when they carried him off, though."

"That's reassuring," Stiles said, flipping him off and rolling over to face the wall. He knew that after this his denials of having a crush on Derek would be ignored even more than they already were, but he was worried. He'd known of Derek and followed his career for a lot of his life and he’d only been injured bad enough to be removed from a game once before and that had nearly ended his career. Stiles’ breaths were coming too hard and fast as he imagined the pain that Derek was in and what it meant for his life and career.

"I'm sure he's fine," Scott said, trying to sound reassuring but the jaw cracking yawn kind of ruined that.

"Going to sleep," Stiles told him, knowing he probably wouldn’t manage for awhile. "Early class."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Fuck off."

"Love you, too," Scott said after a couple of minutes, laughing when Stiles shot a Nerf dart from his own gun at him, missing completely.

The next morning, Stiles had his phone in hand before he'd even opened his eyes. Unlocking it was easy, but once that was done he had to force himself to blink his eyes open and curse the bright sun as it came in through the window; closing the curtains was something he and Scott always forgot to do. Once he could see without sharp pins stabbing into his brain, he opened up the Twitter feed to find an update on Derek. He did indeed have a concussion and would be sitting out the rest of the games for that month.

There was an article linked to the tweet and when he opened it, he found the same information along with a quote from Derek expressing his disappointment in having to sit out games but his gratitude that the team and fans were concerned with his well-being. He also mentioned looking forward to spending the holidays at home being taken care of by his mom and sisters. Stiles laughed at the thought of big, tough, sometimes scary Derek being surrounded by doting women.

A heavy weight was lifted off his chest with the news and his stomach growled, stealing his attention and reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner the night before. Climbing out of bed, he opened the fridge to the carryout containers from Coach’s gone and replaced by a note from Scott that said,  _ "Sorry! Midnight snack! I.O.U." _

Checking the time, Stiles grabbed his laptop and a couple of his textbooks, filling his backpack and exiting the building. He debated going to the cafeteria for less than a second before walking to his Jeep and heading back to Coach's. He was barely through the door when Couch shouted out to him, "You're back! Actually going to eat this time?"

"Yeah," Stiles responded, grinning and ducking his head as a couple of the people in the restaurant turned to stare at him. "What's on the menu today?"

Coach rolled his eyes, pointing at the chalkboard while rattling off some nonsense that definitely wasn't what was on the board. Stiles gave him an unimpressed look and Coach responded in an equally unimpressed voice, "Bacon, egg and cheese on English Muffins. Tator tots-" There was a bang from the kitchen. "I'm sorry. Bite-size hashbrowns!" he shouted and Stiles took a step back. "Happy now?" Another bang and Coach gave Stiles a wink. "There's also a selection of donuts and juices. Along with coffee and tea."

"This is awesome," Stiles said, looking it all over and pointing to a little of everything, his tray heavy by the time he reached the register. 

Once he'd paid and listened to the Coach ramble on about hypothermia and losing a testicle, he made his way to the same table he'd sat at the night before and pulled out his laptop. Eating with one hand, he opened the essay he'd been working on for his criminology course and started rereading what he'd already gotten done. When he'd finished eating, he wrote for a while longer, looking up to see that the restaurant was getting crowded and that it was nearly lunchtime. He saw Coach changing out the trays behind the counter and wondered if the man ever left. 

He turned his attention back to the computer and was about to start typing again when the bell over the door rang and a cheer went up from a few tables around the room. Looking up, Stiles' eyes widened and he slid down in his chair to hide behind his laptop. Derek had just walked in with a couple of his teammates. Moving slowly to avoid detection, Stiles started cleaning up his stuff to make a stealthy getaway. He had just zipped his backpack up around his laptop and textbooks when someone standing next to the table cleared their throat. Closing his eyes and briefly praying for a miracle, he looked up and had his hopes dashed as he locked eyes with Derek.

Derek’s smile was menacing and Stiles jumped to his feet. “I’m just leaving!” he said a bit too loudly and Derek winced. Moving quickly, he dumped his tray in the nearest garbage can and raced out the door, ignoring Coach's hollering. He didn't stop moving until he'd reached his Jeep and climbed inside.

He looked back towards the restaurant and even though he couldn't really see inside because of the sunlight glaring off the glass, he swore he could feel eyes on him. Shaking off his discomfort, he started the Jeep and backed out of the spot, heading back towards campus where he set himself up in one of the study rooms at the library to finish his essay.

He was still bent over his laptop when Scott found him a few hours later and Stiles cursed ever showing Scott the Find Your Friends app. His roommate dragged him out of the library and back to their room where he told him to shower and that they were going to a party that night. It would be their last free night before they had to get serious about finals and he was determined that they were going to enjoy it enough to never remember it. Stiles translated that to Scott was going to get wasted and Stiles would be hauling his butt home.

Sometimes Stiles thought he was too good a friend, like when he leaned against the wall of whichever frat house they were currently at on their tour of the frats, Sketchy Pi or some such nonsense. He sipped from the water bottle he'd been carrying around all night and watched Scott and Allison hold each other up by the lips on the dance floor. He knew he should be happy that Scott had found someone who liked him as much as he liked her, but Stiles was man enough to admit he was jealous. It wasn’t that he wanted to be with Allison or even Scott, but every crush he'd ever had ended up being a textbook study in unrequited love. From his best friend Heather to valedictorian beauty queen Lydia Martin to hotter than the sun Derek Hale, Stiles always wanted what he couldn't have and there were times, like that moment, he hated anyone who got what they wanted when it came to love and romance.

Standing sober in a room full of drunk people was the perfect time to hate everyone. He took another sip of water as the music got louder and someone knocked into him, spilling the contents of his water bottle down the front of his shirt. "Of fucking course," he muttered.

"Could've been a snowball," someone said and Stiles looked up to see Derek looking down at him, eyes narrowed, and Stiles felt all the fight go out of him.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" he said, throwing his hands up and splashing what little was left in his water bottle in Derek's face. "Fuck," he muttered and turned on his heel, pushing through the crowd to the front door. Once he was outside, he texted Scott and went to wait on the curb for his friend to be done having a good time so he could go back to his room and never leave again. He was pretty sure he'd be able to finish his classes online and transfer to a school closer to home so that he wouldn't risk making a bigger ass of himself in front of Derek Hale.

The next morning, Stiles left a bottle of water and ibuprofen on Scott's nightstand and headed to his adviser's office. He met with her every other month to make sure Stiles was still on track with his studies as well as his anxiety. As he entered the building, his eyes went to the RideShare board. He always checked the board when he stopped by, curious to see where people were going just in case he'd be able to help. He'd driven a couple of people home that only lived a couple of hours away just to give himself something to do, but so far that was the most he’d been able to do. He didn’t have much hope for finding company for even a small part of the ride home, but he figured it was worth a shot and he’d feel awful if he’d found out someone got stranded because he didn’t check.

There was one person who lived in Oregon, but when Stiles checked Google maps, he saw that the town was three hours out of his way. Putting the note back on the board, he was about to walk away when he saw a pink post-it sticking out from behind another note, a large "Be" showing. Pulling down the note, he saw that it was someone looking for a ride to Beacon Hills; he couldn’t believe that someone was looking for a ride to his hometown. Smiling, Stiles sent a text to the number on the note letting the person know he was leaving Saturday morning and was more than willing to give them a ride. 

He shoved his phone into his pocket and headed to Dr. Morrell's office, knocking on the door frame and waving when the woman looked up at him, lips quirking slightly when she saw him. "Mr. Stilinski," she greeted. "Come on in."

He dropped into the seat across from her desk and pulled out his journal, flipping the pages until he reached where they'd left off at the last meeting. There wasn't a lot written in there, it'd been a good few weeks. He'd had a mini-attack thinking about finals coming up, unsure what to expect. He also talked about Derek which brought the closest thing to a laugh from Morrell that Stiles had ever heard.

"I'm glad I'm entertaining to you," Stiles said, his lips twisted to hide his smile, knowing he was ridiculous.

"You know that your concern for others isn't a bad thing, right?" Dr. Morrell asked, making a note in her own notebook and smiling at Stiles.

Stiles nodded and felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He started to grab for it, but stopped when he saw Morrell studying him. They sat in silence for a few minutes and Stiles flipped through the journal again, trying to find something else to tell her about and finally settling on Coach's.

"Coach is a good man," she said, making another note in his file when Stiles was finished telling her about the place and how much he enjoyed going there.

"He's crazy!" Stiles argued.

"Doesn't make him any less good. I’m sure there are people that would call you crazy, but you’re still a good person, right?" She tapped her fingers on the desk as she waited for his answer. After a moment, he gave a grudging nod. "I'm glad that you found his restaurant. It's a good place to study and connect with other students."

"Plus the food is good and cheap," Stiles said, feeling proud when Dr. Morrell laughed loudly and nodded her head once in agreement.

The timer on her desk went off and Stiles gathered his stuff together, waving goodbye and telling her he'd see her after break. She reminded him that he could contact her by phone if anything happened over break and he pulled his phone out to verify her cell number, noticing a few texts from the person needing a ride.

Once he was out of the office, he read the texts. They were just verifying that they still needed a ride and asked if Stiles planned on stopping somewhere overnight or just driving through because they couldn't drive at the moment so they would only be able to contribute gas money and they were more than happy to pay for a room in exchange for a ride. Stiles said he was good to drive for at least ten hours a day and sent them a copy of the route he normally took. He suggested a couple of exits that would be good stopping points, but said he would be willing to stay wherever they chose.

Having company for the entire drive and not having to worry about where he was going to stay was a load off Stiles' mind. He decided to treat himself by heading to Coach's to finish his essay and get some studying done. The place was packed but a large guy he recognized from the Hockey team gestured to an empty seat at his table and Stiles took it, grateful that aside from a smile of greeting, the guy ignored him.

Finals went quickly and Stiles was fairly confident that he'd done well. As soon as he exited his last exam Friday evening, he headed to Coach's and got the biggest order of curly fries he'd ever seen. He'd mentioned to Coach that they were his favorite food and the man had promised there would be some waiting for him when he finished exams. Stiles shouted an extra loud thank you to the still-unseen Greenburg and chuckled at the banging that came from the kitchen. When he was done eating, he wished Coach a happy holidays and said he'd see him when he returned from break.

Scott had already left for home when he arrived back at the dorm, so he threw his suitcase on Scott's bed and started filling it. He grabbed the photo of him and his parents and wrapped it carefully in one of his hoodies before setting it into the suitcase. When he was done, he zipped it up and set it by the door, changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. It was still early, but he figured the more sleep he got that night, the easier the long drive would be the next day, especially since he couldn't count on...

Grabbing his phone, Stiles sent a text to the person he was driving back to Beacon Hills the next day.  _ "I never got your name." _ His mind was filled with his dad’s voice warning him about safety and he knew it wasn’t the wisest to offer a ride home to a stranger, but Beacon Hills wasn’t that big so chances were good that his father would know who he was driving home and once he found out himself, he’d send the name off to his dad in case anything bad happened.

He was nearly asleep when his phone buzzed with a response. He debated leaving it for the morning, but he figured the sooner he sent the name off to his father, the better everyone would feel, so he picked up the phone and checked the notifications. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the screen, he let out a squeak and dropped the phone on his face.

_ "Sorry about that. My name's Derek Hale." _

He didn’t even bother to open the entire message, his body already sliding towards panic as he sat up and pulled out his journal and started writing. He kept looking at his phone every time it lit up with a new notification, his eyes retracing the words form Derek until there were too many notifications for him to see it any longer. Finally when he couldn’t keep his eyes open for another moment, he put the journal away and laid down hoping he’d fall asleep quickly.

Stiles groaned when his alarm went off; he slapped at it, hitting snooze and dropping back against his pillow to stare at the ceiling. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he wiped away the sleep in the corners with a groan. After he’d gotten the text from Derek the night before, he’d had an awful time falling asleep. He'd worked so hard to avoid Derek after pelting him with the snowball and now he was going to be stuck in a car with him for two days.

_ "Stuck in a car and a hotel room with him," _ his traitorous mind reminded him and he tugged on his hair, ready to scream in frustration. 

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, seeing another text from Derek asking what time he wanted to meet. It was only seven but if they planned ten hours of driving and counting for stops, they should probably get on the road as soon as possible. He realized he didn't even know where Derek had made reservations, so they might have more or less than ten hours of driving that day. As much as logic told him they needed to leave right that moment, he wasn’t ready to face Derek. His stomach growled and he started to tell Derek to meet a little later so he could grab breakfast first, but then saw Derek was typing.

_ "I picked up donuts and coffee for breakfast. Some snacks for later, too." _

Stiles groaned. Derek had already been amazing in his imagination and he was proving to be as much so, if not more, in reality. Climbing out of bed, he shot off a text to Derek to meet him in front of his dorm in a half an hour and grabbed his shower caddy and clothes, heading down the hall to the showers.

Stiles dragged his feet as he left the building a few minutes early, only slightly surprised to see Derek already standing there with a bag over his shoulder and a rolling suitcase at his feet, balancing a drink carrier and a white paper pastry bag in one hand. He was dressed in a leather jacket that Stiles recognized from high school and a blue scarf that reminded Stiles a lot of the one he lost, but Derek's looked like it was well worn, loose threads sticking out along the length. 

He lifted the mirrored aviators he was wearing and raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "I wondered if it was you," he said and Stiles was confused by the slight upturn of his lips, having expected him to take one look and walk away as quickly as he could and still be cool to find another ride back home.

"Not too many people from Beacon Hills around here, I guess," Stiles responded, trying to keep his voice and breathing even.

"You probably don't remember me," Derek said, dropping his glasses back into place before bending to pull up the handle on his suitcase, allowing Stiles to gape unnoticed. "I taught you to skate."

The laugh escaped before he could even completely process Derek’s comment. "I think you mean that you  _ tried _ to teach me to skate," Stiles corrected, hunching his shoulders as he passed Derek, waiting to be cuffed upside the back of the head for all of the assaults with different forms of water over the past couple of weeks, but it didn't come. He glanced over his shoulder and Derek still hadn't moved except to duck his head, one hand running over the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to ask if he was coming but said, "I'm sorry."

"For?" He sounded genuinely confused and Stiles sputtered as he tried to put together words under Derek’s gaze.

"Everything. The snowball. The coffee. The water. Existing," he said and Derek's chuckled. "In case you didn't know this, my klutziness is infamous."

"I do remember Cora sharing some stories," Derek said, shrugging. "Apology unnecessary but accepted."

Stiles nodded and headed towards the parking lot. He heard the wheels on Derek's suitcase as they fell into step together. "Still have the Jeep?" he asked and Stiles gave him an incredulous look. "That hunk of junk was legend back home."

"Roscoe is not a hunk of junk!" Stiles argued as they reached the Jeep. "Now apologize before he decides to be an asshole and not start."

Derek's eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, Stiles," he said and Stiles tried to ignore how his name sounded coming from Derek's mouth. 

"Not me," Stiles said, opening the back and stowing his bags before reaching for Derek's. "Him."

"Really?" Derek asked.

"You want a ride home or not?" Stiles asked.

Derek rolled his eyes, but laid a hand on Roscoe and said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, Roscoe. You're not a hunk of junk. You're a good boy, aren't you?" 

Swallowing and slamming the door shut, Stiles cursed his luck; he was jealous of his fucking Jeep. He looked up to make a snarky comment but his words froze when he saw a pained expression flash across Derek's face. "Careful or you'll have to apologize," Derek teased, but it sounded flat.

"You alright?" Stiles asked, taking the drink carrier from Derek as he climbed into the passenger side.

"Headache," he muttered. "Doc said it would probably last for a few days."

"It's been like a week," Stiles said, handing over the drinks so Derek could settle them into the cup holders. He closed Derek's door gently and dropped the now-empty carrier in a nearby trash can. He climbed into the Jeep and turned to Derek who had his head resting back on the seat, eyes closed behind his glasses.

"Don't remind me," Derek groaned. "I went for a checkup yesterday and they said I was healing fine. It's more a dull ache at this point, anyway. Loud noises and eye strain make it worse."

"So, exams were a bitch then," Stiles supplied, silently cheering the slight twitch to Derek's lips in response. "Well, if you need to stop or anything, let me know." Derek made a quiet sound of assent and took a sip of his coffee. He also pulled out a donut and handed it over to Stiles, all without picking his head up from the headrest.

Taking a bite of the donut and turning the key at the same time, Stiles backed out of the parking spot. He glanced over at Derek as he turned out of the lot, laughing at the powdered sugar covering his shirt and coloring spots in his beard grey. He was going to say something but Derek's face twisted before smoothing out and he figured he would leave it alone for a little while; maybe Derek would fall asleep and his headache would ease a bit.

The first part of the drive was slow going, a lot of people heading out of town for the holidays but once they got past the airport, the traffic cleared up and Stiles pressed a little harder on the accelerator. Derek was pretty quiet until he took the last sip of his coffee, popping the lid off to get the last dregs. 

"Sorry," he muttered as he put the cup in the empty pastry bag. "I'm not much of a morning person on a good day and today is definitely not a good day.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes underneath his glasses with a groan.

"No worries. I've got enough energy for the both of us," Stiles assured him. "Most of the time my professors for morning classes beg for me to shut the hell up."

Derek's chuckle was small. "I haven't had a class before ten since freshman year. Of course, I'm usually up by six for hockey practice. Boyd found me sleeping in the penalty box one morning. Thinks there's even some pictures of that floating around somewhere."

Stiles laughed, pretty sure he had a copy of that particular photo saved on his phone. He bit his lip hard enough to cut off any sound when Derek winced. "Do you have anything to take for the headache?" Derek jerked a thumb towards the back of the Jeep and Stiles rolled his eyes, pulling off the expressway at the next exit and into a McDonald's. "Get your pills while I get something to drink."

"Just water," Derek said and Stiles nodded.

Derek swallowed the pills when Stiles got back to the Jeep and proceeded to sleep for an hour while Stiles kept the volume of the radio loud enough to keep him awake but not loud enough to disturb Derek. He was pulling off into a rest stop when Derek finally stirred. "I'm really lousy company, bet you're regretting responding to my post-it.”

Stiles grinned but didn't respond because having Derek in the car was enough to keep Stiles entertained but he wasn't going to tell him that and as Derek got out of the Jeep and stretched, he was looking a lot more awake than he had so far on the drive. He had his phone out and was texting someone when Stiles went to relieve himself. He washed his hands and texted his dad their current location so he wouldn’t worry. He didn’t expect a response since his father was busy protecting and serving the citizens of Beacon Hills so he shoved his phone back into his pocket and headed back to the Jeep.

Derek was nowhere to be found when he got back to the Jeep. Assuming he’d gone to use the facilities, he opened the back of the Jeep and pulled out his backpack, digging around in his backpack and finding the beef jerky he’d put in there before class the night before, nibbling on it as he looked at his phone studying the route and trying to figure out how much further they might be going that day.

A strange bird sound caught his attention and he glanced over to a small group of trees surrounding some picnic tables. Approaching, he looked up into the branches and saw a small black and grey bird standing on the trunk, beak facing the ground. He watched it crept up and down and even sideways, digging its beak into the bark in search of food. Lifting his phone, Stiles took a couple of photos and videos before posting them to Instagram. "Trying to make a friend," he said aloud as he typed the caption. He'd barely turned the phone off to watch the bird some more when  _ Wolfman12 _ posted a comment. 

_ "Thought we were friends,"  _ followed by a frowning emoticon and Stiles was going to reply but Derek chose that moment to appear, eyes on his phone as he approached and smiling when he came to a stop, his eyes traveling up into the trees.

"Where did you book a room?" he asked, remembering what he'd been doing before the bird had distracted him. Derek returned his attention back to his phone, thumbs flying over the screen before handing it over. Stiles read over the email hotel confirmation that was on the screen, gawking at the price. "Is this for one room or did you get us each one?"

Derek looked away from where his eyes had been locked on the bird in the tree, still crawling around and making noise. "I figured you deserved a decent room with all the driving you’re doing," Derek said, following Stiles as he made his way back to the Jeep. "Plus, my mom actually made the reservation and she has a frequent stayer account for that chain or something."

"Go, Mama Hale," Stiles said as he plugged in the hotel's address and saw it was only another four hours of driving. "It's a little earlier than I planned on stopping, but I'm not complaining." He turned to Derek, studying the pallor of his skin, concern growing. "You ready to hit the road again?"

"In a minute," he said, walking around to the back of the Jeep and digging into his backpack. Closing the door and climbing into the vehicle, he held out a package of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. 

"Dude!" Stiles said, yanking it out of his hand. "These are my favorite." He ripped it open and shoved one in his mouth. He was unwrapping the second one when he froze, staring at Derek who was watching him with a small smile on his face. "How did you know it was my favorite?"

“Your mom always had one for you after practice," Derek said, smiling as he bit into a KitKat. Stiles stared at him, amazed that he remembered such a small bit of information after so many years. "Ready to go?" he prompted when Stiles didn’t move.

Stiles shoved the second Reese's cup into his mouth and grinned around it as he turned the key in the ignition. Expecting Derek to go back to sleep, Stiles focused on the road, playing license plate bingo by himself. He'd just spotted an Alaska plate when Derek spoke up, breaking the silence.

"I remember you being chattier."

"First off, I was five when you knew me and, more importantly, I didn't want to add to your headache. I've been told I do that," Stiles responded, glancing over to see Derek remove his sunglasses, tucking one arm into the vee of his shirt. The sun was partially hidden by heavy grey clouds and Stiles wondered if snow was predicted for the area.

"I'm good for now." Derek turned his head against the headrest to look at Stiles, eyes still dull but alert. "How'd you know about my concussion?"

"Besides seeing it on the cover of the school newspaper?" He laughed at the expression on Derek's face, eyes wide and jaw slightly dropped in a silent, sarcastic laugh that Stiles felt proud to be on the receiving end of. "My roommate and his girlfriend were there. They texted me."

"That much of a fan?" Derek teased, the smile on his face disappearing when Stiles bit into his lower lip. "I remember you and your mom coming to my PeeWee and Junior's games." Stiles looked at him under the pretense of changing lanes, his eyes soft as he studied Stiles. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Stiles nodded, not having any words to respond so he focused on the road, blinking rapidly against the tears in his eyes. After four mile markers and three California plates, he cleared his throat. "It was hard to go after."

"I get it." Stiles scoffed, immediately regretting the reaction when Derek continued. "I stopped playing in high school for a couple of years after my dad died. He was the one who taught me to skate and had coached me for so many years. Every time I set foot on the ice, I thought about him and couldn’t focus on the game. Ended up on my ass more often than I care to remember at this point."

Stiles had known but hadn't remembered that Derek had lost his father in a car accident when he was a freshman in high school. In his defense, Stiles had been ten years old and adjusting to a world without his mother and starting middle school. "What got you started again?" Stiles asked, curious not only about the answer but if Derek would answer at all.

Derek reached out to fiddle with the radio dials for a minute and just when Stiles figured he wasn't going to answer, he rubbed his hands over his thighs and began speaking. "I found a box of my hockey jerseys that my father kept stored in his closet. Each one had an envelope pinned to it that held my stats and a short note about his favorite moment from the season." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I started back up again to honor his memory, but I stayed because I love the game."

"I can tell," Stiles admitted. "I, uh, went to my first game since my mom died when I saw you were on the team last year. I didn't even know we were at the same school until I saw your face on the poster." He gave a humorless laugh. "For ten games, I didn’t even make it onto the bleachers and even then I didn't even make it through the first period."

Derek nodded, the somber mood that fell over them both was broken when Stiles' stomach growled loudly. "There's a service plaza coming up," Derek offered. "I'll buy you lunch."

"You're already paying for the room and gas, I can pay for my own lunch."

Derek didn't argue but when it came time to pay, he got his credit card to the cashier before Stiles even had his wallet out of his pocket. "Asshole," he muttered, smiling when Derek laughed.

"You have a strange word to express gratitude in your language," he said, carrying the tray to find a table.

Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket responding to a text from his father who was on his own lunch break. He gave him their new location and the name of the hotel where they would be staying that night. He knew his father could easily track his phone, but he was glad that he didn’t abuse his power and trusted Stiles. After he was done, he snapped a photo out the window over Derek's shoulder, only a small sliver of his face and ear were visible in the photo, blurry along the edge. He debated posting, but did it anyway, leaving his phone sitting next to him, waiting for Wolfy's response.

Derek's phone buzzed across from him and he put down his fork that he’d been pushing his food around with instead of eating. Glancing at the screen, he made a comment under his breath before hurriedly getting to his feet. "I'll be right back," he said, disappearing quickly.

Stiles watched him, shrugging; he didn't know Derek well enough to know if this was unusual behavior. He bit into his burger, frowning at his phone when there wasn't anything from Wolfy yet. He knew that the other man didn't always react right away, but normally he was pretty quick. He reached over to slide his phone into his pocket when it finally buzzed with a notification.

_ Wolfman12 commented on your photo: "Should I be jealous?" _

Stiles wasn't sure how to respond to that comment. He and Wolfy flirted a bit but this was the first time he'd said anything that made Stiles feel he might be thinking things were more than just a bit of harmless fun and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Wolfy's profile didn't give him any indication what Wolfy was like and although looks weren't important to him, the guy was still basically a stranger. He only knew he was a guy because he’d told him in a comment once, but even that could be a lie; Stiles had seen catfish, he wasn’t an idiot, he just hoped that Wolfy was who he appeared to be.

_ "I didn't know we were exclusive," _ he finally decided to type and hit send, moving to pocket his phone when he saw Derek approaching. He started to say something when Derek stopped moving and looked down at his phone, squinting at the screen before he shook his head and pocketed his phone, frowning.

"Alright?" Stiles asked when Derek made it back to the table. "Is it time for more pills?"

"It's not, but I think the lights in here are a little too bright," Derek told him.

Stiles started to gather the food together, eating his burger quickly as he pulled his keys out, watching as Derek threw his uneaten food in a trash bin and followed Stiles outside. "Let’s get back to the car and you can sleep for the next few hours until the hotel." When Derek didn't answer, Stiles glanced back over his shoulder to see him leaning against the side of the building, face pale, hands shaking. "Shit. Are you alright?" 

Derek looked up at him, shook his head before bending over and vomiting into the bushes next to the building. When he was done, Stiles handed him the napkins from the restaurant. When Derek was more or less cleaned up, he helped him to the Jeep and started looking up the nearest hospital on his phone, muttering under his breath as he did. "I don't want to go to the hospital," Derek mumbled, eyes drifting shut.

"Hey, no," Stiles said, reaching over to gently shake Derek by the shoulder with one hand while starting the Jeep with the other. "Stay with me, big guy." Stiles put the car into gear and pulled back onto the expressway, splitting his attention between the road, the GPS and Derek who was looking worse by the moment. "If you're going to throw up again, try to give me some warning." Derek grunted and Stiles sped up a little more, saying a silent prayer of thanks when the GPS told him to get off at the next exit and the expressway seemed to be free of police.

Pulling up to the door in front of the Emergency Department, Derek was starting to doze off again and when Stiles reached out to touch him, his skin was burning up. Some of the tension seeped out of his shoulders; fever wasn't a symptom of a concussion, but it was a symptom of the flu. Crossing his fingers, he helped Derek out of the Jeep and into the emergency room where a very nice woman checked Derek in while a valet took his keys and parked the Jeep for him. 

A young man approached with a pink plastic basin and handed it to Stiles who was rubbing a hand up and down Derek’s back. "Just in case." Stiles thanked him as Derek groaned and covered his face with his hands.

A half an hour after they arrived, a short wait considering Stiles had seen two injuries that would probably require stitches and one man who was rushed back with probably a heart attack, a nurse called Derek’s name. Stiles helped him to his feet and then started to sit back down. "Aren't you coming?" Derek asked, his voice raspy and weak, but his eyes were wide with panic.

"You want me to?" Derek nodded, wincing, and Stiles stood to follow, smiling at the nurse that was looking between the two of them with interest. 

Stiles occupied himself with his phone while Derek changed into a hospital gown behind a curtain. Once he was settled on the bed, his clothes in a sealed plastic bag, he called Stiles' name. Peeking around the curtain, Stiles frowned at how small and pale Derek looked lying on the bed, with a cheap blanket pulled over his shivering form. He turned towards the door to ask someone for another blanket when Derek stopped him.

"Call my mom," he requested, holding out his phone. "The codes 1212 if it locks." 

"Sure, dude." Stiles took the phone, unlocking it and searching for his mom's number, smiling when he finally found it listed under "Alpha Mom".

The conversation was a quick one since they hadn't seen a doctor yet and Stiles didn't have much information other than that Derek was feverish and vomiting. Mrs. Hale seemed to share Stiles' train of thought that Derek had simply come down with the flu. She told Stiles she was on her way and if he wanted to continue on to the hotel, she would call ahead with his name so that he could check in.

"I'll stay here until you arrive," Stiles told her. "I don't want Derek to be alone."

"Thank you," she said before hanging up.

When Stiles got back to the room, Derek was hooked up to an IV and his eyes were closed as a nurse took his temperature. She smiled up at Stiles and stepped backwards to let him get closer to the bed. Derek opened his eyes when Stiles cleared his throat. "Hey."

"Your mom's on her way." Stiles sat in the chair next to the bed, fiddling with Derek's phone. "She's worried."

"I know," Derek said, eyes closing again. "The doctor hasn't come in but the nurse doesn't think it's the concussion. They'll probably send me for an MRI anyway."

Stiles didn't know what to say and Derek's phone buzzed, so he tried to hand it over but Derek closed his eyes again, relaxing back against the bed. "Who is it?"

"Boyd," Stiles told him after he checked the screen. "He wants to know, 'Did you tell him yet?' Tell who, what?"

Derek let out a shuddering breath. "Nothing. Boyd's just being a pain." The corners of his lips quirked again before he paled and grabbed for the pink bucket, dry heaving into it. "This is even worse than throwing up," he said when he was done and Stiles handed him some paper towel to wipe off his mouth.

"Agreed," Stiles responded, looking away so he was the first to see the doctor when she came into the room, a clipboard in hand and smile on her face.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Bladell," she said, extending a hand to Stiles who took it and then waved at Derek who was still hugging the bucket to his chest. "So, Derek, how are you feeling?"

"Like death."

"Well, I can assure you that you're not dead. Your elevated pulse assures me of that." Stiles snickered and then full out laughed when Derek gave him a half-hearted glare. "At least someone appreciates my sense of humor. I'm fairly certain that you have the flu, but with your recent head injury, I'd like to run an MRI just in case."

"Do you know how long I'll be here?" Derek asked. "We're on our way home for Christmas and I don't want to hold him up." Stiles thought the question odd since Stiles would be back on the road again as soon as Mrs. Hale arrived, but his cheeks still burned at the kindness behind the sentiment.

Dr. Bladell looked at the clock on the wall. "Well, the MRI is pretty booked, but we should get you in within an hour or so. I'd like to keep you on the IV for at least a few hours to re-hydrate you. You probably won’t be released until some time tomorrow morning."

"I'm sorry," Derek said and Stiles shrugged, smiling; the last thing Derek needed was to worry about Stiles. 

The doctor stuck around for a couple more minutes, talking with Derek and re-checking his vitals before a nurse came in and stuck a swab up his nose that made Derek sneeze and gag. Shortly after they were left alone and Stiles kept convincing Derek to stop apologizing, a young man in dark blue scrubs knocked on the door and pushed in a wheelchair. "Hi! I'm Bob and I'll be taking you down to MRI, Mr. Hale."

"Derek, please."

"Alright, Derek, do you need help getting into the chair?" 

Derek's eyes widened and he looked at Stiles who stood, taking the bucket and setting it on the overbed table before helping Derek off the bed with a hand under his elbow until he settled into the wheelchair, understanding the hesitancy to have a stranger touching you when you’re feeling vulnerable. "I'll wait here for you," he offered, grabbing Derek's phone off the bed to hand it to him.

"You should probably hold onto that. The MRI is not kind to iPhones. Something to do with helium," Bob explained. “It turns it into a glorified paperweight for days on end and most phone insurances don’t cover it.” He smirked when Derek’s frown deepened. “I speak from experience, dude.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” Derek said as Stiles promised, "I'll keep it safe." 

Derek nodded, making grabby hands at the bucket which Stiles handed over, thankful when Derek bent over the bucket with no results except a dry cough. He waved as Bob turned Derek around, earning an eye roll. Once Derek was gone, Stiles looked around the room tapping his fingers against his thigh. 

Settling back into the chair, he pulled his own phone out, setting Derek's on the bed. He scrolled through Twitter and then went to Instagram. He looked through the pictures Scott had posted from the cruise, leaving a string of heart-eye emojis on a photo of his mother in a bikini knowing it would make the woman smile. He liked a few pictures that Allison had posted from the hunting trip she’d taken with her father, feeling a bit squeamish at the sight of the elk she'd taken down with her bow. 

It didn't take long for him to grow bored and his gaze started flitting around the room, reading the posters on the walls more closely than most people probably did. He found a spelling error on a sign listing phone numbers for the hospital; at least he hoped it was a typo or the hospital had inpatient and outpatient lavatories instead of laboratories.

On the wall across from him, there was a garishly colored poster with cartoon figures and when Stiles looked closer, he had to laugh when he saw it was for the diagnosis and treatment of STIs. Smirking, he snapped a photo and posted it with the caption, _"Always up for learning new things."_ He was sliding his phone into his pocket when Derek's phone buzzed from the bed. Thinking it might be his mom or Boyd, he grabbed the phone, freezing when he saw the notification on the screen: _Stiles4Miles_ _posted a picture._

His thumb hovered over the notification for a second before tapping it and unlocking Derek's phone, faced with the photo he'd just posted. Swallowing, he tapped the profile icon in the lower right corner and dropped the phone when he saw  _ Wolfman12 _ at the top of the screen.

"You alright?" Derek asked from the doorway where Bob was rolling him back into the room, the IV pole bumping against the door frame.

"Yeah. Just tired." He shoved his own phone in his pocket, his fight or flight response set firmly to flight. "I think I might get back on the road." Derek frowned and Stiles felt like an asshole, but his feet were already moving towards the door. "Your mom's on her way..." He knew she wouldn't be there for several more hours unless she managed to fly in and he had said he wouldn't leave Derek alone, but the urge to escape until he could sort his head out was overwhelming.

"Sure, sure, I get it," Derek said, moving carefully from the chair to the bed, brushing off Stiles when he attempted to help. Bob looked between them as he backed out of the room quickly, closing the door gently behind him without saying another word. "You've already stayed longer than any other stranger would."

The words hurt and stilled his feet; he'd thought they were friends, not only in real life but on Instagram even if Derek was hiding his identity. He wondered if Derek had always known that  _ Stiles4Miles _ was him or if he only figured it out that day when he'd posted the photo at the service plaza. The likelihood of Derek not knowing it was him was slim; Stiles was a unique name and he had Beacon Hills in his bio as well as photos of himself in his lacrosse uniform from high school. Not to mention the absurd number of selfies he posted alone and with his friends.

He turned back to face Derek, the burning need to run ebbing under his tangible upset. "You have my number if you need a ride back to school. I'm heading back on the third." 

"Sure," Derek said, picking up his phone and flipping it in his hand, thumbing open the phone and freezing. "Stiles..."

"It's fine, Derek. Or should I say, 'Wolfy'?"

"I can explain."

"You don't need to; I'm not upset with you." The validity of the words surprised him. He truly wasn't upset; he was confused.

"Yet, you can't get away from me fast enough." Derek's voice was flat, his shoulders slumping against the bed and Stiles crossed the room, dropping into the chair, resting his hands on the edge of the bed. 

"I'm staying." Derek's scoff was bitter and Stiles fought the urge to stick his tongue out at him. "Not until your mom gets here at least." He picked at the blanket while Derek kept turning his phone screen on and off. "So, how 'bout them Mets?" Stiles said when the ticking off the clock on the wall became too much for him to bear.

Derek chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Thought you were a hockey fan." He spun his phone in his hands. "I asked my dad about you when you stopped coming to the games and he told me about your mom being sick. I stopped by your house to see if you were alright and if we could give you rides to the games, but your dad said you were sleeping. He looked so sad that I didn't want to come by and bother him again, so I didn't."

"I don't think my dad ever told me you stopped by," Stiles said. He tried to think back but he spent so much time between the hospital and sleeping that the days were mostly a blur in his memory.

"I brought over a plant. You probably never even saw it.” There was something strange in Derek’s tone that caught Stiles’ attention.

Huge bouquets of flowers had decorated their home for months when his mom got sick and after she'd passed away. It had gotten to the point where he'd hated anything that smelled remotely like flowers; he’d thrown up after hugging his aunt who was wearing Beautiful Day perfume at the funeral. Despite all of that, he knew the plant Derek was talking about, remembered his father putting the small spider plant in a blue pot wrapped in a yellow ribbon in Stiles' room, giving him the responsibility of caring for the plant.

At first, the plant had nearly died because he'd been eight years old and concerned only with his mother. One morning, he'd woken up to a leaf lying on his pillow and a phone call from the hospital that his mother’s condition was worsening. His eight-year-old brain twisted that coincidence to mean that he kept the plant alive, he could keep his mom alive, too. He'd ridden to the library on his bike, the plant tucked into the basket on the handlebars, and read everything he could find on the plant. The librarian had several of the plants at home and had given him lots of advice on caring for it and even offered to help him transplant it when it got too big. She'd also told him that spider plants symbolized caring, especially when given as a gift wrapped in ribbon.

"You know that I still have it," Stiles said trying to keep accusation out of his voice as he opened his Instagram, finding the photo he'd taken of his desk when he'd moved into the dorm that year. Turning it around to show Derek, the plant, or at least one cutting of it, still in the original pot sat in the corner, the ribbon in tatters still tied around it. He tapped the likes underneath and  _ Wolfman12 _ was at the top of the list. 

"I thought it might be the same plant, but...it's been a lot of years." The tips of Derek’s ears were pink so the flush of his cheeks wasn’t just from the illness.

"I took really good care of it," Stiles said, telling him the reasoning behind his undying devotion to the plant, even after he'd lost his mom. "It's a connection to her and you gave it to me. Thank you."

Derek blinked, his eyes wet in a reflection of Stiles' own. "You're welcome. I'm glad it helped."

Stiles was about to stand up and give him a hug when the doctor came back into the room, smiling with the chart held against her chest in crossed arms. "Congratulations, you have the flu!"

"I don't think that word means what you think it does," Stiles said, smirking when Derek laughed and muttered, "Inconceivable," under his breath.

"Leave the jokes to me," the doctor said, still smiling. "I'd like you to get through at least one more bag of fluids before we release you. We're going to move you to a room on the observation unit and you should be out of here by morning." She turned to Stiles. "Normally, I'd have you abide by visiting hours, but since you're far from home, I can have housekeeping bring in a recliner for you to sleep in while he's here."

"That'd be great," Derek responded before Stiles had a chance to even open his mouth. The doctor nodded and left the room. "Unless you wanted to go on to the hotel."

"What fun would that be alone?" Stiles teased. "You should cancel it though, that way your mom isn't wasting any money."

They talked quietly about nothing important, the serious mood from earlier having been broken by the doctor's appearance, while Derek texted his mom. She asked if Stiles was going to wait for him to be discharged because if he was, she would just stay at a hotel where she was and return home in the morning. "You're sure you're okay with hanging out?" Derek asked after he'd explained what his mom had said. 

"Of course," Stiles responded. "I can get you home. I'll just have to run to the car for my pillow and hope the recliner is comfortable because I need some sleep before I drive some more." 

Bob reappeared with another wheelchair and took Derek to a room upstairs, the promised recliner already in place and a smiling nurse greeting them. "Derek, you can't have anything to eat, but would your friend like anything?" she asked. Stiles thanked her for the offer and requested a water. "I'll be right back. I'm Jenn. If you need something before I get back, just press that red button there and someone will be in shortly"

Once she was gone, Stiles helped Derek get settled on the bed, fussing over him. "Do you need the bucket?"

Derek shook his head. "No. My stomach is actually feeling alright." He closed his eyes and sighed as he leaned back against the pillows. "Could sleep."

"Do that," Stiles told him. "I'm gonna go get my pillow and let my dad know what's going on." He was halfway out the door when Derek called his name. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," Derek said. "You could've left me when you found out about the whole Wolfman thing. I wouldn’t have blamed you."

"I like Wolfy," Stiles told him, sharing a smile before he stepped aside to let Jenn back into the room, her arms loaded down with not only three bottles of water but packages of snacks.

"Just in case," she said.

The night passed quickly. Stiles woke up when he heard a fake camera shutter. Stretching out his neck from where it had ended up over one of the arms of the chair, one leg over the back and the other over the other arm while he'd managed to get his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Blinking he saw Derek grinning as his fingers flew over his phone. "How ya feeling?" he asked through a yawn and another stretch.

"A lot better," he said. "They're going to feed me something liquid and then watch me for about an hour and if I don't throw up, we can get back on the road. I asked them to bring you breakfast, too. Of the solid variety."

"Thanks." Stiles twisted around until he was sitting up, pulling his own phone out of his back pocket, groaning when he saw that it was dead. "You got a charger? Mine's in the car."

"So's mine," Derek told him, showing Stiles his phone, the battery at five percent, as someone from the cafeteria came in with two trays.

"They have chargers at the nurses' station," the girl, whose nametag read ‘Marie’ told them. "I can go ask them to bring you some. What kind of phones do you have?"

"iPhones," Derek said and she nodded, disappearing and returning five minutes later with two charging cords. 

"Just don't steal them, yeah?" she said, smiling as she left the room with their reassurances they wouldn't fresh in her ears.

Plugging their phones in, they focused on their trays, Stiles teasing Derek about his liquid breakfast but apologizing when Derek hands over his coffee and takes the tea they gave Stiles instead. Stiles puts the orange on his tray in his bag, saving it for Derek for later when he could hold food down. They talked about the rest of the trip, trying to figure out if they could make it back by nightfall and if they couldn’t if they should push through or stop somewhere for the night.

Stiles' phone powered up and he picked it up, narrowing his eyes at the Instagram notification from Derek, suspicion heavy in his gut. He turned to look on Derek who was staring down into his tea with a smile on his face. Opening the notification, Stiles squawked at the photo of him draped over the chair, the angle just right that his face wasn't showing. The caption read, _ “Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down. - Oprah Winfrey" _

"So, is Roscoe the limo?" Stiles asked.

"No, I am. I'm the thing that broke down," Derek said, smiling sadly. "You would've been almost home by now if it weren't for me."

"Hey," Stiles said. "It might not be ideal, but the ride would've been boring as hell alone." He dug into his bag and pulled out a deck of cards he'd packed for the hotel. "Up for some poker?"

Derek nodded and Stiles moved to sit on the foot of the bed, dealing the cards onto the overbed table. They got through two hands before a doctor came back into the room with discharge instructions for Derek. Part of the instructions cleared him off all restrictions due to his concussion as there was no sign of last damage on the MRI, so Derek was cleared to drive as long as he felt up to it. 

Once they were out of the hospital, Derek held his hand out for the keys but Stiles held them behind his back. "You're not driving yet. I'll do the first leg and then we'll discuss if we want to get home tonight or stay somewhere." It took several moments of arguing before Derek gave in and climbed into the passenger seat. The frown on his face ate at Stiles so once they were on the road, he nudged Derek and pointed to the radio. "You pick."

"Really?" Stiles nodded and Derek started playing with the dial, a grin on his face. After five straight minutes of switching stations, just when Stiles was ready to lose his mind and take back the offer, Derek settled on a station playing "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas." 

"You are so weird," Stiles teased but was singing along after just a few minutes.

They stopped to get lunch at around two in the afternoon, Derek sticking to soup while Stiles ate half a large pizza and wrapped the rest up to take home. When they got back to the Jeep, Derek took the keys from Stiles, insisting he was well enough to drive for a couple of hours at least. Stiles didn't normally allow people to drive his baby, but he’d been nodding off for the last few miles before lunch, so he didn’t fight Derek too hard. He watched Derek shifting gears and maneuvering through traffic, pleased to see he was such a good, careful driver. Once he was convinced that Roscoe was in good hands, he found himself drifting off to sleep.

Stiles jolted awake when Derek slammed on the brakes, a curse slipping out of both of their mouths and as Stiles blinked and took in their surroundings he groaned at the line of traffic at a dead stop in front of them. Pulling his phone out, he checked the maps app, letting his head fall back against the seat when he saw ten miles of red road that ended in a symbol for an accident. Dialing his phone, he smiled when someone picked up on the other end.

"Tara! Light of my life!" he said, noticing Derek's hands tightening around the steering wheel. He reached over and patted him on the leg as he continued talking to the deputy on the phone. "Can you see what's happening on I-5 Southbound near Cantua Creek?" 

"Stiles, are you not home yet?" He could hear her fingers flying over a keyboard as she admonished him. "Ten car pile-up. Traffic is at a complete stop pending investigation. If you're anywhere near there, I'd get off at the next exit and either find a new route or a place to sleep."

"Thanks, Tara. I'll see you when I get home! Love you!"

"Love you too, brat," she said, hanging up on his squawk of indignation.

"Okay, so we have a couple of options," Stiles said as he tapped at his phone screen trying to find the closest hotel as he explained to Derek, asking for his input.

"Are you sure your girlfriend won't be upset about you spending the night at a hotel with someone?" Derek asked, his tone clipped as they moved forward about a foot before coming to a stop again.

"My girlfriend?" Stiles asked, looking around for a hidden camera. "Um...pretty sure I'd have to explain to her that I'm gay before I would have to explain staying overnight in a hotel with a friend."

Derek's eyes jerked to the side. "Gay?"

"Oh shit, you're not, like, homophobic, are you?" Stiles asked, smacking his forehead. "I let some uptight asshole drive my baby. I'm such an idiot. Forget it, we'll just pull over and take backroads. It'll take longer but that way you don't have to worry about the creepy pervert bad touching you in your sleep." Stiles' anger grew and he was surprised Derek hadn't picked up on his sexuality; he had several different pride flags in his Instagram bio. He started tapping violently against his phone screen trying to plan alternate routes, jumping and dropping his phone when Derek laid a hand over his.

"Stiles, I'm bisexual," he said, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go. "So, definitely not homophobic. I never assume anyone’s sexuality. I know you support the community because of the pride flags in your bio and the one hanging in your dorm room, but you also post a lot of cozy photos with that beautiful redhead who, after the half of a conversation I just heard, I thought must be Tara."

Stiles started laughing, trying to get words out and failing miserably. "Tara is Deputy Graeme. She works for my dad and used to babysit me after my mom died. I think if I did try to hit on her she'd beat me over the head with her nightstick and shove me into a closet. And the redhead is my best friend, Lydia Martin, who has been dating Jackson Whittemore off and on for years. Jackson is the douchebag who also appears in a ton of my photos and my other best friend."

As he studied Derek, he thought about the photos he’d posted with Lydia, a lot less since she’d left for England. He had noticed that Wolfy never commented on them and the likes were slower in coming for those, but he’d chalked it up to Wolfy being busy and not having ready access to his phone when he’d posted the photos. Now as he looked back on his thoughts, he began to think that Derek was actually jealous.

The tips of Derek's ears turned red and he put a hand over his face, his own laugh breaking free as the traffic moved again. "Hey! Get over!" Stiles shouted, slapping Derek on the arm and pointing to the exit a half-mile up the road. "If we get off here, there's a string of hotels about a mile down the road."

Glancing over his shoulder, Derek turned on the signal and pulled into the far right lane and drove on the shoulder for a moment to the exit, noticing a couple of cars following him. When he got to the end of the ramp, he followed Stiles' directions to turn right and they headed towards the lights of businesses in the distance.

As they drove along, a lot of no's were lit up on the vacancy signs and Stiles could feel his hope falling with each one they passed. He opened his phone again and went back to the page he had been searching. He passed over the places he’d already found and on the third page found something he normally wouldn’t have considered for the current situation, but beggars can't be choosers and he really didn’t want to fight traffic any more. He ran his thumb over the phone number and waited for it to connect. After a couple of minutes on the phone, he'd secured them a room.

"You found something?" Derek asked, as his eyes kept scanning the signs on the side of the road.

"Yeah...." Stiles said, suddenly nervous. "It's a bed and breakfast a little off this road, but...well...they only had one room left."

"That's great!" Derek said. "Where should I turn?" When Stiles didn't answer right away, he looked over at him, eyes studying him. Stiles just stared at him, hoping he would understand without Stiles actually having to say the words. The silence dragged on while Derek's face went through a variety of emotions before settling on one of realization. "One room left means one bed left." Stiles nodded and looked down at his hands. "I've been told I snore," Derek said after a moment. "Now, where am I going?"

Breathing easier, Stiles gave directions and they pulled up in front of a two-story home, not quite Victorian but definitely not modern. The garden in front was full of plants that were probably gorgeous during peak season. The sign out front let them know they were in the right place and when an older gentleman stepped out on the porch and waved them inside, Stiles grinned at Derek. Together they grabbed their bags and headed up the walkway, calling out greetings.

"Welcome! Tonight is full of unexpected guests! Did you get caught in the traffic as well?" The man greeted, reaching to take Derek's suitcase as a small dog that looked like it had stuck a paw in the light socket came out and started sniffing their ankles before jumping up on Derek, his paws barely reaching his knees. "And you have Darling's seal of approval, so welcome to the Daydream Bed and Breakfast. I'm George Wessax, one of the proprietors. You'll meet my spouse shortly. Are you hungry? We can get something whipped up for you."

"We don't want to put you to any trouble," Derek said, kneeling down to scratch behind Darling's ears. "We really just need some sleep." His stomach growled and Stiles and George both laughed, even Darling seemed to give a bit of a laugh through her panting. "I'm getting over the flu, so my diet hasn’t been very hearty," he admitted.

"Charles has an amazing chicken soup recipe that’ll cure what ails you! We always have some in the freezer ready to be heated up and enjoyed," George said, moving quickly and handing over a key on a star shaped key ring. "You’re in the Neverland Suite at the top of the stairs, second door to the left.”

“And straight on till morning?” Stiles teased, grinning when Derek and George both chuckled.

“Take your terrible jokes and get yourselves settled. Someone will bring you a couple of bowls of soup and some other food up to your room."

He hurried off, Darling at his heels, as Stiles and Derek followed George’s directions until they were standing in front of a door with a hand-painted sign with the name “Neverland Suite” on it. Putting the key into the lock and turning it, they were greeted with a four poster bed. To the left of the bed was a small kitchenette with a table for two. To the right was a door that stood open revealing a small bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. A closet was on the same wall and Derek moved to put their bags inside it to save space to move around the room.

"Do you mind if I take a quick shower?" Derek asked. "I want to wash the hospital and sick off of me."

"You do that, I'll call my dad to let him know what's going on. Then when you're done, I'll take a shower," Stiles told him. 

"Remind me to call my mom after I get out of the shower."

Stiles agreed and Derek headed into the bathroom. Once the door was closed, Stiles called his father to give him an update. "How's Derek feeling?"

"A lot better. He even drove for a little while. If it weren't for the accident, we'd probably be home tonight."

"Yeah, Tara told me you’d called from the thick of it, so I’m glad you found a place to stay. I'd rather you stay put, kiddo. There were at least five other accidents in the backup from the accident. They've only just started clearing it up." His dad sounded exhausted and he couldn't wait to get home to see him, hug him. He wiped at his eyes and listened to his father go on about something Deputy Parrish had done that day, making Stiles laugh and alieving some of his stress.

Derek exited the bathroom, steam flowing out behind him and towel wrapped around his waist, freezing when their eyes met. Stiles’ laugh choked off, his throat suddenly too dry to function. "You alright?" Stiles' dad asked, voice low with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he said to his dad, still staring at Derek who hadn't moved. "I'm gonna go, get some rest."

"Yeah, do that. I don't want you to come down with the flu for Christmas." They said their goodbyes and hung up and still Derek hadn't moved, his skin starting to goose-pimple in the cooler air of the room, the steam from the bathroom dissipating around him in a way that Stiles should not be noticing or it was going to become even more uncomfortable than they already were.

"I forgot to take my clothes in," Derek explained as he began to edge along the wall to the closet, grabbing his suitcase and pulling it into the bathroom and closing the door, but Stiles got enough of a look at his back to see the tattoo stark against his skin in the middle of his back. 

There was a knock on the door and Stiles opened it to reveal another older gentleman holding a tray laden down with bowls and covered plates. "Greetings! You must be Mr. Stilinski. I've got food for you and your partner. I included some ginger ale and ginger tea to help his stomach."

Stiles gaped as the man pushed past him to put the tray on the table in the kitchenette. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call."

"We don't want to be a bother-"

"No bother! My son will be coming in about twenty minutes so George and I can get some sleep. I've got to be up bright and early to cook breakfast!" He was gone before Stiles could say anything and when he turned back from closing the door, he saw Derek, dressed in sweats and a white tank top, watching him from the other side of the bed. "Hungry?" Derek nodded but didn't move. "Go sit and have some soup. I'm going to shower."

"You didn't correct him," Derek said as he moved past Stiles towards the food.

"Correct who?"

"The man. He called me your partner," Derek said, sitting in one of the chairs and sniffing at one of the bowls of soup. "You didn't correct him."

Stiles shrugged. "So, they think we're together. Personally, I take it as a compliment that they think I'm good enough to get a guy like you." He winked at Derek who had opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut and turned his attention back to his soup.

Grabbing his clothes, not wanting to make Derek witness his naked chest, he headed into the bathroom for a shower. The water was warm and the pressure was amazing. He'd have to tell his father about this place if he ever wanted some kind of getaway. The small shampoo bottle provided by the bed and breakfast was already open, so Derek must have used it, but Stiles hadn't packed any so he picked it up and poured it over his head.

As he scrubbed his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends, he thought about Derek. He spent an awful lot of his life thinking about Derek in the shower, but this time his thoughts were more grounded in safe for work territory. He thought about the talking they'd been doing since leaving campus, the rekindling of a friendship that had only lasted a few weeks when he was five but had left enough of an impression that Stiles had held onto it despite time and distance. He thought about the plant and its importance in his life and how it would never have been there if it hadn't been for Derek. 

As he finished cleaning up and shut off the shower, he thought about life after this short, adventure-filled road trip. Would it go back to the way it was, Stiles watching Derek's games from the stands with Scott and Allison while Derek lived his life as free of Stiles as he could. Trading the occasional flirty Instagram comment while pretending to be strangers. He didn't think he could go back to that, but he didn't think he had the guts to tell Derek how he was feeling.

He stood in front of the mirror, running the towel over his hair and cursing when it fell into his eyes. He was overdue for a haircut but between exams and everything else, he'd been lax about trying to get into the barber. Grabbing his overnight case, he reached in and pulled out his clippers, running his fingers over the blades carefully and looking at his reflection in the mirror. Shaking himself, he plugged in the clippers.

Exiting the bathroom, Stiles discovered Derek still sitting at the table, sipping at soup and dipping torn off pieces of a small roll into the broth. A cup of steaming tea sat to one side of the bowl and a bottle of water to the other side. Running a hand over his shaved head, he cleared his throat. Derek's head turned and Stiles barked out a laugh when the bite of roll Derek had just taken fell out of his gaping mouth.

"That bad?" 

Derek shook his head slowly, his jaw still dropped. He stood and crossed the room, reaching out to rub a hand over the top of Stiles' head, chuckling. "Gonna have to have the team rub your head for luck." Stiles snorted and batted his hand away. "Of course that means you'll have to start sitting closer to the ice."

Shoving Derek hard enough to knock him onto the bed, Stiles squawked. He had told Derek he had attended a game because he was on the team, but he'd never said he regularly attended. "How do you know where I sit?!"

"Student section bleachers, a quarter of the way up, always on the end with a guy with a crooked jaw and a pretty girl next to you," Derek rattled off, smirking from where he rested back on his elbows on the bed. 

Stiles had to look away from the image Derek presented and the ideas it put in his head. "You're making that up!" he argued, but he was too detailed for it to be a guess.

Derek shrugged. "Boyd points you out to me," he said. "Sometimes you duck when he does."

Stiles put his hands over his face, groaning into his palms. “How does Boyd even know who I am? Was this whole trip just a game to humiliate me?"

Derek sat up and pulled Stiles' hands away from his face. "No, this was me needing a ride home. I wasn't even sure it was you offering the ride, although I'd hoped it was, if I'm being honest. And Boyd knows who you are because he’s my roommate and has seen your Instagram."

"Liar," Stiles muttered and tugged away from Derek. "Did you call your mom?" He shoved his clothes back into his suitcase, pulling out something to wear the next day for the drive and turned towards the bed where Derek had settled on top of the blankets on one side of the bed, leaning back against the headboard, a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses on his face and a book open in his lap.

"I did," he said, eyes on his book. "She offered to pay you back for the room."

"That was nice of her. I know I should tell her no, but poor college student," Stiles said, checking the tray of food and grabbing a pastry of some sort and shoving it in his mouth before climbing onto the other side of the bed, sliding underneath the covers. "You can stay up and read, the light won't bother me."

"Thanks," Derek said, lifting his gaze for a moment to smile at Stiles before returning to the book. "I'm sorry if it bothers you that I know you come to the games. I was surprised when you weren't at the one where I got hurt."

"I figured after I'd spilled burning hot coffee on you that seeing me at the game might be hazardous to my health," Stiles explained, feeling his cheeks burn when Derek's lips twitched.

"Instead, not having our good luck charm there was hazardous to mine."

"Asshole," Stiles said, burying his face in his pillow to hide the smile that bloomed at being called a good luck charm in a way that sounded like he actually meant it.

"You have the same word for goodnight as gratitude in your language," Derek teased and Stiles lifted a hand out from under the blankets to flip Derek off, falling asleep to the quiet sound of Derek's responding chuckle.

The next morning, Stiles woke up to the aroma of fresh coffee very close to his face. Cracking open one eye, he saw Derek smiling at him, waving a mug of coffee at him, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Ready to hit the road?" he asked and Stiles nodded before pulling the blanket over his head and closing his eyes again. A minute later he felt a yank on the blanket and was tugged off the bed and onto the floor with a clatter before he could even think of letting go. 

"Asshole," Stiles said, grinning when Derek added to the list of things that word meant in Stiles-ese. 

"I went downstairs for breakfast and brought some up for you. George said we have until eleven to check out, but I figured you'd want to get home as soon as possible," Derek explained as he helped Stiles up from the floor.

“Feeling better, I guess,” he said and Derek nodded, his eyes clearer than they’d been since leaving campus and his face had a color that wasn’t flush.

Derek was already dressed in a pair of jogging pants in the university colors and a hockey shirt, looking soft and comfortable, perfectly dressed for the drive. Stiles had pulled out jeans to wear, but changed to a pair of sweats that he wore when he was having a bad day. He heard Derek snicker behind him and he whipped around pointing a finger at him. "No laughing at the Tardis!" He ran a hand over the Tardis that adorned the leg of the sweats.

"Favorite Doctor?" Derek asked as Stiles went into the bathroom to change.

"Not fair!" Stiles said back. "That's like picking a favorite child."

"Nine." Derek laughed when Stiles slammed the bathroom door in his face.

They were on the road by nine, Charles and George giving them to-go cups of coffee and a bag of food, including two plastic bowls of Charles’ chicken soup. They stood at the gate, waving them off after fussing over Derek until he assured them that he was feeling one hundred percent better and crediting Charles' soup for the recovery. Derek took the first shift of driving; although there was only about six hours left, Stiles was more than happy to turn over the keys. Comfortable silence filled the car for the first hour or so of the ride, Derek focusing on the road and Stiles playing Candy Crush on his phone.

"What do you and your dad do for Christmas?" Derek asked, breaking the silence. When Stiles looked up, Derek’s eyes were still on the road.

"Nothing extravagant. My dad volunteers to work Christmas Day allowing the deputies with young kids to be home with them, so we do all out traditions on Christmas Eve.”

“What kind of traditions?” Derek asked, glancing over at Stiles briefly before returning his attention to the highway.

“Before my mom got sick, she started having us go to the soup kitchen on Christmas Eve to help serve lunch. Dad told me when I was older it was so I would learn to appreciate what we had, but I just thought all the people had interesting stories and they would all talk to me.”

“That had to be fun for you, then. Do you still do it?”

Stiles nodded, smiling at Derek’s understanding. “Every year. Now it’s in her memory, but I also finally get what she was trying to teach me.” He chuckled.

“She’d be proud of you,” Derek observed. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said, fiddling with his phone, cheeks warming as he ducked his face into his jacket. 

After a few minutes, his face cooled and he turned to see Derek jerk his head back to the road. “What do you do after the kitchen?” he choked out, clearing his throat after he was done speaking.

"We head home to have take-out and exchange gifts. We end the day by watching Christmas movies until my dad passes out on the couch. Sometimes I go with him to the station on Christmas Day, help out with paperwork but usually I just stay at home." He looked over to see Derek frowning; he knew how it sounded but he really didn't mind the way he spent Christmas because he was used to it. "What about you?"

The frown slowly morphed into a smile. "Christmas Eve we have a get-together for our friends and family. My mom usually has it catered and it can get pretty crazy, but the one year I had to miss it because of a hockey game, the whole holiday just felt off to me." He shrugged. "Christmas morning we get up and open presents. My mom still insists that all of the kids go to bed early so 'Santa' can put the presents under the tree." Stiles laughed at that and Derek smiled. "It makes her happy, so none of us argue."

"That's really nice," Stiles told him, looking out the windshield at the road ahead of them as he tried to remember Christmas mornings with his mom and the two piles of presents in different wrapping so he knew which were from 'Santa' and which were from his parents.

"The rest of the day we eat leftovers from the party and all of our friends know that they're welcome to stop by if they don't have anywhere else to go." Derek looked over at Stiles with a smile. "Something I'd like you to remember."

Stiles felt his cheeks warm and rubbed his hands over them. "I will." 

They stopped at a shopping mall to grab some drinks to go with the food from the men at the B&B. After they’d eaten, they decided to head back inside to stretch their legs and do some Christmas shopping. They wandered around looking in the windows and talking about some of the things they saw. Stiles stopped outside a store that specialized in woolen items, his eye caught by a soft blue sweater. He hadn’t gotten a gift for his father yet and that sweater was perfect. He ducked inside to check the price tag. It was a little more than he'd usually spend, but knew that he’d regret not purchasing it so he took it up to the counter. Turning, he saw Derek had followed him in and was looking at a display of scarves, his hands running over two in different shades of blue.

"Getting one?" Stiles asked and Derek shook his head, running his hand along the stitching one more time before turning to Stiles with a smile. 

They walked around for about an hour, Derek picking up a couple of gifts for his sisters and dragging Stiles into a pottery store where he'd spotted a tea set that he swore his mother would love. Stiles laughed at the wolf head teapot with cups that were painted with different phases of the moon. "My whole family loves wolves," he explained. "We spend a week every summer volunteering at Wolf Haven in Washington."

"That's awesome!" Stiles said. "Wolves are such cool creatures." He rattled off wolf facts, impressed when Derek matched him fact for fact as they carried the packages to the Jeep, cushioning the box holding the tea set with the bag holding the sweater and a blanket he kept in the Jeep for emergencies. 

They got back on the road, Stiles behind the wheel this time. They were both eager to get back home and out of the vehicle by that point; Stiles swore he wasn't going to drive at all the entire break. He asked Derek if he had any plans other than those he'd already shared. "I have a couple of last minute gifts to work on, so I'll probably spend time at home in front of the fire with a steady stream of hot chocolate."

"No parties or hanging out with your friends?" Stiles asked, thinking about Lydia and her boyfriend, Jackson, who he would be seeing over break. They were really the only two from high school he still talked to and although Jackson came across as a major douchebag at first, he was probably his best friend next to Scott.

"I played hockey so much growing up, I never really had time for friends," Derek said, lips twisted into a frown.

“What about the other players?” Stiles asked.

“No one wanted to hang with the coach’s kid.” His voice was teasing but the corners of his mouth were still turned down. "I invited Boyd to come down for the New Year, but he's spending it with his girlfriend's family."

"Scott's coming for the New Year, although I'm sure that means I'll be witness to countless phone calls with his girlfriend. It’ll be good to introduce him to my dad for the first time. I don't think my dad believes me when I tell him I live with a human puppy." They both laughed.

"Going to a party or anything?" Derek asked and Stiles nodded.

"Lydia usually has one, but I don't think I've ever actually stayed until midnight," Stiles explained. "Seeing all those people kissing always gets to me. New Years is torture for single people."

"I get it," Derek said.

Stiles held back the scoff; he'd learned that Derek didn't lie about stuff like his feelings, so he really must understand, even if Stiles couldn't imagine Derek ever being single for long. He thought about the blonde that Scott had seen him with and the flirty brunette at the library. He remembered a couple of guys and girls making lewd comments about him at a few different games. Derek was definitely someone that people wanted to be with, unlike Stiles.

"Hey!" Derek said, smacking Stiles' arm, pulling him out of his could of self-pity. He smacked his arm again and pointed to a sign announcing that their exit was in five miles. "Do you even know where I live?"

"Out in the preserve somewhere," Stiles said, “so I'm assuming I take Old Beacon Road.”

"Yep," Derek told him. "All the way to the end, can't miss the house." Stiles bit back a smile as Derek leaned forward in the seat like he could make the Jeep go faster.

"When was the last time you saw your family?" Stiles asked, understanding Derek's eagerness; he hadn't seen his father since he'd left for school in August.

"They came to see a game back in October, but I haven't been home since July," Derek told him. "Do you ever regret going so far from home?" Stiles nodded as he slowed down and took the exit.

"Every time I hear about someone going home for the weekend to see their family, but WWU gave me the best scholarship, so it's a small price to pay." He looked for the road where he would need to turn off, knowing as soon as he did that it would only be a few more minutes before Derek would be gone. 

"It was the same for me. I had offers to play at other schools, but the money wasn't as good. They also have a decent Kinesiology department." Derek turned to reach into the back of the Jeep, pulling his backpack forward and digging into it, pulling out a set of keys as the sign indicating the end of the road appeared to the right.

"That's what you want to do? Sports medicine? A doctor or, like, with a team?" Stiles asked, lifting his foot off the accelerator, watching the speedometer needle drop gradually; he really didn’t want the easy conversation between them to stop.

"I haven't decided yet. The draft is in the summer and I'll see how it goes. If I'm undrafted, I'll take a year off to figure out my life beyond hockey. I'm not sure I'm cut out for med school though." Derek spun his keys in his hand as he pointed to his driveway. "I've got time to figure out my life."

"Cool," Stiles said. "I wanted to take a gap year before starting college, but my dad put his foot down." He grinned. "I'm glad he did though. I'm easily distracted and going back to school might not have been easy for me after taking time off." He laughed at himself with self deprecation. 

"Your father's a wise man," Derek said, giving a soft smile as Stiles pulled to a stop in front of the house, gaping at the size of it.

Derek opened the door and stepped out of the Jeep, turning to stand in the open door. "You said you're going back on the third? Still willing to give me a ride back? I'll be able to drive more. We might even be able to make it without staying overnight somewhere."

"Yeah, sure," Stiles said, thinking he wouldn't mind going to stay with George and Charles again, but not wanting to push his luck. Hoping his face didn't give him away despite the warmth in his cheeks, he climbed out to open the back of the Jeep so that Derek could get out his suitcase and the plastic bag of dirty clothes the hospital had given him, along with the gifts he’d bought, leaving the tea set sitting in the back of the Jeep as he turned to Stiles. "You've got my number if something comes up...or if you just want to say hi...or whatever."

Derek ducked his head but Stiles caught his grin. "Same for you." He opened his mouth to say more but was cut off by a war cry and blur of dark hair jumping on his back. "Hello, Cora," he deadpanned, barely moving under the force of the assault.

"It's about time you got home!" she squealed and then looked up at Stiles. "Sheriff's kid," she greeted.

"Demon spawn," Stiles countered, stepping back when she reached out to swat at him over Derek's shoulders. "It's good to see you, Cora."

"You, too, Stilinski," she said, sliding off of Derek's back and stepping around to glare at Stiles, arms crossed over her chest in a stance that reminded him a lot of her brother.

Cora had been in Stiles' grade in school, but they'd moved in separate circles. They'd worked together on one project their senior year and had become friendly but nothing to speak of once the project was turned in to the teacher. When they'd gotten an A-plus and fifty points extra credit, Cora had thanked him with a new oil filter for his Jeep, something he'd been complaining about needing while they'd worked.

Another girl stepped out on the porch and called out a greeting. "My other sister, Laura," Derek explained before chasing Cora off and turning back to Stiles. "Thanks again for the ride," he said, shifting his backpack higher onto his shoulder and reaching for the handle of his suitcase, the plastic bag and tea set tucked under one arm. "I'll see you on the third if I don't see you sooner."

"Definitely," Stiles said, nodding. 

They stood staring at each other, small smiles on their faces, a feeling of anticipation running through Stiles, but he had no idea what he was waiting for. He bit into his lip and Derek tilted his head to one side, grinning. Stiles was about to reach out to pull him into a hug when Derek's sister shouted from the porch again, her tone full of irritation hit like a pointed barb. "I gotta go," Derek said.

"Yeah. See ya, dude."

Derek shook his head as he turned away. "Don't call me 'dude'." 

Stiles climbed back into the driver's seat and looked over to the empty passenger seat and frowned. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a picture, posting it to Instagram with the caption:  _ "It's not as much fun when it's empty." _

He barely had the key turned in the ignition when there was a response from Derek.  _ "Wolfman12 commented on your photo: It's not even cold yet." _ Stiles looked up at the house and saw Derek in one of the windows, a hand raised in farewell. Stiles returned the gesture and then turned his car around in the wide driveway and headed towards home.

Stiles drove on past his darkened house, heading towards the Sheriff's Station, eager to see his dad. He was about a block away when he saw a familiar black Porsche fall in line behind him, following him the entire way there. Climbing out of the Jeep, he barely gave the driver a chance to climb out of the car before he was throwing himself on top of him. "Jackie-boy!"

"Don't call me that, asswipe," Jackson said, but his arms squeezed just a bit tighter. 

"It's about time you came back to town," Lydia sniffed as she came to stand behind them, rolling her eyes as the boys wrestled each other until they grew tired and Stiles turned his affections on her.

"How is the most beautiful girl in the world?" he asked and Lydia pinched his side as they embraced. "I'm sorry, the most beautiful and intelligent  _ woman _ in the world."

"Doing well," she responded. "I think I've convinced the professors at MIT that I should be teaching their classes."

"Of course you have," Stiles said, moving so he had one arm around Lydia, pushing her into Jackson's side who wrapped his arm around her with a groan, but smiled at Stiles' phone as he held it out nonetheless. Typing quickly, he posted the photo, grinning when he'd barely gotten the phone back into his pocket and there was a like and a comment of a facepalm emoji from Derek. Now that he knew how Lydia was, it seemed he didn’t mind commenting on the photos including her.

"So, what's going on with you and  _ Wolfman12 _ ?" Jackson asked, looking at his phone. "He almost sounds like he knows you now. Have you been having cybersex?" He sounded hopeful, but he’d long ago confessed in a drunken haze that he shipped Stiles and Wolfy.

"Sorry to break your heart, but your OTP is not hooking up," Stiles teased, shoving his phone in his pocket and heading toward the front door of the station where his father was standing just inside the door to greet them all. "Pops!" Stiles shouted, throwing himself into his father's arms, burying his face in his shoulder to hide the tears that sprang to his eyes from the familiar smell of Old Spice and the strength of the hug his father was giving him.

"Son," John whispered, holding him tight and then greeting the others. "Jackson. Lydia. Welcome back to town."

"Good to be back," Jackson told him.

They all talked for a few minutes before Stiles followed Lydia and Jackson back out of the station to head to the diner in town for dinner. His father was working until ten so he had some time to kill and after being in Scott's pocket for months and Derek's for a few days, he didn't relish the idea of going home alone. He settled into the booth when he got an Instagram notification that Derek had posted a photo. Opening it, he saw a photo of a plate filled with something lumpy and unidentifiable, a familiar hand poking it with a fork.  _ "I almost miss the hospital food." _ Stiles double-tapped the photo and left a comment about Charles' chicken soup.

When he put his phone away, he saw Lydia watching him with raised eyebrows. "So, who did you take to the hospital?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles said, pulling the menu towards him even though he'd had the thing memorized since he was five years old and could identify the words "curly fries".

“You’re a day later than scheduled,” she started and Stiles had a fleeting moment of guilt for not keeping her updated. “You posted a photo with a poster about STI’s, which meant you were at a hospital or free clinic. It wasn’t here or Bellingham according to your location, so it wasn’t a planned visit. Since you appear free of injury or illness, you must have taken someone else there.”

Stiles looked at the ceiling and then at Jackson who was studying his own menu, lips twisted into a smile, enjoying Stiles’ discomfort a little too much. He finally looked back at Lydia who was staring him down, her gaze calculating. "Fine! It was Derek Hale, alright?" he shouted, ducking his head when several heads turned towards him. "He posted a note on the rideshare board and I answered it. I didn't even know it was him until the night before we left."

Lydia took her menu and slapped him over the head. He threw his arms up to protect himself, knocking over his water glass so it went into Jackson's lap. He leapt out of the booth, glaring at Stiles while Lydia pressed her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a smile. She ignored Jackson's bitching and slapped Stiles with the menu one more time for good measure while the waitress hurried over to mop up the spilled water, muttering about not missing them at all.

"You spent three days in a car with Derek Hale and didn't tell me!" she hissed once she'd tired of abusing him. "Three days!"

"It wasn't quite three days," Stiles said, ducking when Lydia raised the menu. "Okay, fine! I drove him back from school and it was nice."

"Nice?" Lydia questioned. 

"You've had a hard-on for the guy before you knew what hard-ons were," Jackson pointed out, fiddling with his phone. "The only other person you've shown that kind of interest in was Lydia." He paused. "And  _ Wolfman12 _ , but he's just a name on a screen, not a real person." 

Stiles took offense at that comment and opened his mouth to set Jackson straight on the validity of online friends, but Lydia interrupted him, head tilted and eyes narrowed as she looked at Stiles and then to Jackson and back to Stiles again. "Wait, Derek is  _ Wolfman12 _ , isn't he?"

Stiles flailed, at once impressed by and jealous of Lydia's intuitiveness. "How can you possibly know that? He doesn't post anything personal!"

"His number is 12 and has been for as long as anyone can remember and I only know that because it's been your lucky number for just about as long. His nickname on the ice is 'The Wolf'." She shrugged. "It's so obvious, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out."

He was insulted by her comment and also by how obvious his crush had been even when he'd stopped going to the games and only saw Derek occasionally in town or later in the halls at school. He hadn't even followed Derek's career from afar, if he had, he would've already known he'd stopped playing for a little while when his father had passed away. 

"I didn't try to figure it out. Why would I have even thought for a minute that Derek Hale would follow me on Instagram?" It was something that had been bothering him since he'd discovered Derek's identity. "It's not like I have a ton of followers."

"How long has  _ Wolfman12 _ been following you?" Lydia was scrolling through her phone now, gaze intense enough on the screen that Stiles was surprised it didn't shatter.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm not sure." He was scrolling through his timeline, mind wandering until a thought popped into his head. He snapped his fingers and hurried through the feed. "The first photo he commented on was the one from move-in last year." He turned his phone to show the photo of himself sitting in the driver's side of the Jeep, door open and legs hanging out of the vehicle. He had a WWU hat on his head and a 'Class of 2022' sign in his hand. His Beacon Hills lacrosse jersey was hanging off the back of the Jeep, the lettering just barely visible in the photo. He'd had Scott snap the photo for him and had posted it with the caption: _New state. New start. Wish me luck._ _Wolfman12_ had been the only comment from someone he didn't know and had been: _Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore. -L. Frank Baum_

Stiles had liked the comment but not responded to it. It had taken a few more photos and comments before he'd actually responded and followed his account. The exchanges between them had been friendly and distant at first but after Stiles had posted a photo of the Thanksgiving dinner served by the dining hall with a long missive about how much he hated being away from home at the holidays,  _ Wolfman12 _ had left a friendly message relating to the feeling. It was the closest to a personal statement he'd made and it had opened up the doors between them slightly.

"Maybe he saw me on campus?" Stiles suggested. "That doesn't explain him finding my Instagram though."

"You did tag the photo with WWU as the location, maybe it was a suggested post to him," Jackson said, now tapping at his phone. They jumped when the waitress approached the table asking if they were ready to order. They exchanged glances and gave her matching sheepish smiles as they shook their heads. After an exasperated eye roll, she shoved her order pad in her apron pocket and went back towards the kitchen.

"That's a possibility. He might have gotten the suggested post, spotted the BHHS jersey and followed you," Lydia said. 

It sounded like too many maybes but a lot more believable than Derek spotting him on campus and searching out his Instagram. He still had difficulty grasping the fact that Derek even remembered him from when he was five years old. He put his phone down and rubbed at his temples, his brain going into overdrive and all the time on the road over the past few days catching up with him. 

"Enough thinking. More eating," he said, smiling at the waitress when she set three plates in front of them, deciding to bring their usuals instead of continuing to bother them for orders. As he bit into his burger, he watched Lydia and Jackson as they ate. He'd missed them more than he'd thought and wished they hadn't both decided to attend Oxford; he would just have to spend as much time with them as possible while they were all in the country for the holidays. 

They stayed at the diner until they were done eating but at that point, Stiles was yawning and he was afraid he'd fall asleep at the table, so he stood and hugged Lydia and Jackson, promising to see them both soon and often. Lydia started to say something about Derek but Stiles pretended to not hear her and got into his Jeep, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards home. He dropped his bags just inside the doorway of his room, kicking off his shoes as he crossed the room, falling face-first onto his bed, asleep before his body heat warmed the cold sheets. 

Stiles woke to his father sitting down on the edge of the bed, shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey, kiddo. Why don't you get changed and go back to sleep."

"Comfy," Stiles muttered burying his face in his pillow, grateful he'd put on his Tardis sweats and "Keep Calm and Don't Blink" tee for the drive that day. 

"At least wash the road off of you," the Sheriff suggested, laughing when Stiles groaned and tugged at the blanket, trying to get it out from under him and over his head. "Okay, then at least stand up long enough to pull the covers back." Glaring at his father without opening his eyes, he crawled towards the head of the bed and slid his feet under the blankets and kept moving down until his head disappeared, giving a quiet scoff that broke into a yawn. "Good night," John said, standing up from the bed and Stiles heard his bedroom door closing.

Sunlight seeped into the room around Stiles' curtains, falling across his face where he was lying sideways across his bed, head hanging off one side. Blinking and groaning, Stiles stretched, listening to the satisfying pops of his spine as he moved. He sniffed the air and smiled before frowning as the aroma of frying bacon overwhelmed his senses. "Dad!" he croaked out, pushing himself off the bed and stumbling out of his room and down the stairs.

"Relax, it's turkey bacon," John said, setting a plate with pancakes and bacon in Stiles' spot, next to a mug of black coffee.

"You are a god among men," Stiles told him, falling into the seat and picking up the mug, cradling it in his hands and inhaling the aroma with a closed-eye, full-bodied sigh. 

"Have to be to have raised you," his dad said, turning off the burner and taking a seat across from him. "How was the drive? Other than the unplanned hospital visit, of course."

Stiles filled his dad in on the trip. He and his father had always been close, so there was no hesitation in sharing with him everything that he and Derek had talked about during the drive. When he mentioned the plant, his father got a thoughtful look on his face. “I remember the plant,” he said. “I remember it was a teenager that dropped it off, but I never went to the games with you, so if it was Derek, I wouldn’t have recognized him.” 

Stiles pulled up a sneaky photo he’d taken while they were at the mall and handed it over to his father. “It could be him, but it was a lot of years ago and there was a lot going on.” He moved the phone closer and squinted his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, laughing and taking the phone back.

“Trying to picture him younger and without the weight of the world in his eyes.”

"Too bad I don't have a picture of him from back then," Stiles muttered.

"Doesn't he have Facebook? I thought everyone except me had one," his father teased.

Stiles closed his eyes and huffed out a breath; he really was losing his touch if he hadn't even thought of seeing if Derek had any social media other than Instagram. Picking up his phone and sliding it open, he groaned as it shut down. He pressed the button a couple more times and realized he’d forgotten to plug it in the night before so it was a dead weight in his hand.

After breakfast, his dad went to take a shower before the two of them left to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. Stiles ran up to plug his phone in while he changed clothes, forgoing a shower after a quick sniff of his armpits told him he wasn't too offensive. He put on extra deodorant and a spritz of cologne before dressing in jeans and a flannel shirt. He brushed a hand over his hair, thankful he’d shaved it so he didn't have to fuss with it sticking up all over the place.

Checking his phone, he saw it was back on and at about 15%. He could hear the shower running and his father singing Christmas Carols, so he kicked back on his bed to check his phone. There weren't a lot of missed notifications, but Derek had posted a bunch of photos to his Instagram; he was going to have to teach him how to put more than one photo in a post. He double-tapped each photo, stopping on one of Derek and his two sisters, their faces smooshed together and holding bunny ears behind each other's heads. The caption was three bunny emojis and Stiles couldn't help take a screenshot of the photo and commenting,  _ “Bunny or wolf? What's the truth?"  _ before continuing to scroll. It was the first time Derek had posted anyone’s faces on his account and Stiles couldn’t help feeling it had something to do with him finally learning his identity. 

Within a few moments, he started getting notifications that people he didn't recognize were replying to his comment. Going to check, his eyes widened at the fuss his comment at created.

_ ShEricaWolf: Bunny in the streets. Wolf in the sheets. _

_ JustBoyd: Something you two need to tell me? _

_ Coradora: Bunnies with sharp pointy teeth!! #HolyGrail #MontyPythonRulez _

_ TheBestHale: I don't know any of you. _

Stiles figured that JustBoyd was the teammate that Derek had mentioned a few times on the drive and Coradora and TheBestHale were Derek's sisters, but ShEricaWolf was an unknown. He vaguely remembered Scott saying Derek was with an Erica the night Stiles had pelted him with a snowball. He hadn't mentioned a girlfriend, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. If she was his girlfriend, Stiles wondered how she felt about he and Derek sharing a bed the night before and why Derek hadn’t mentioned her, but it seemed he hadn’t even told Boyd.

His mood dampened, he threw his phone to the side and climbed off the bed, stopping when he saw another notification from Instagram pop up, another comment on his comment. This one was left by Derek and being the glutton for punishment he was, he slid the notification open to look.

_ Wolfman12: Erica! Tell your boyfriend there's nothing going on between us! _

Grinning, Stiles commented,  _ "Should I be jealous?" _ and before he could put the phone down, it started buzzing with some version of "No!" from each person who had already commented on the photo, including Derek. His thumbs hovered over the screen while he tried to come up with something witty to say in response, but a text from Derek came through distracting him from his efforts.

_ From Derek: Erica is Boyd's girlfriend. They've been together since freshman year. _

_ To Derek: Good to know. I think she has chem lab with my roommate. He said he saw you with her the night of the snowball. _

_ From Derek: Probably. We work together at a coffee shop off campus and I was on my way there when you brutally assaulted me. _

_ To Derek: I said I was sorry! _

Stiles' dad called his name before knocking on the doorframe to his room. "Ready to go?" 

Looking down, he saw that Derek hadn't responded yet so he shot off a quick text to tell him he was going Christmas shopping with his dad but would be around later if he wanted Stiles to continue apologizing. He didn't honestly expect to hear from him at all, so he didn't hold his breath that they would talk later that night. Unplugging his phone, he hopped off the bed and followed his father downstairs to the driveway. 

The mall was a madhouse and Stiles wanted to run screaming after five minutes, but the look of determination on his father's face kept him focused on the task at hand. Every year, his father saved ten dollars a week to spend on toys to take to the children's ward at the hospital for Christmas. It was a tradition his mother had started and one of the few they'd continued after her death.

Their last stop was the craft store. As they made their way to craft kits for kids, Stiles ran his hand over the yarns loving the soft texture of a particular brand that was in an end cap. He paused to pick it up and rub it against his face. His mother used to make blankets but Stiles had never thought at his young age to ask her to teach him to knit. Now, he wished he'd learned so he could make something out of that yarn, even just a scarf to keep the softness close to him. Frowning, he put it back, running his hand over it one last time.

Turning around, he ran into Derek, thankfully he didn't have a cup of burning hot coffee in his hand. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Derek responded, smiling at Stiles before shifting his gaze over his shoulder and then to the right where Stiles' father was standing, arms full of boxes. "Sir, let me help." He took a few of the boxes, handing a couple to Stiles before taking more, leaving John empty-handed. __

"Thank you," John said. "Derek Hale, right?" Derek nodded. "How are you feeling? My son told me about your hospital visit."

"Much better, thank you. I can't thank Stiles enough for taking me to the hospital." He smiled at Stiles who was studying the boxes in his hands, cheeks warming under Derek's gratitude.

"Must have done something right raising him," John said before turning to Stiles. "You ready to go?" Stiles nodded as John took the boxes back from Derek after a slight tug of war. "Continue your shopping, son. Have a Merry Christmas. Maybe we'll see you around town."

"Yes, sir," Derek said. "Merry Christmas to you as well. Talk to you later, Stiles."

"Definitely," Stiles said, failing to contain the bright smile that overtook his face as he fell into step with his father. "Shut up," he muttered when John gave him a knowing look. As they turned the corner at the front of the store, Stiles glanced back and saw Derek with a skein of the yarn Stiles had been admiring in his hands.

After the mall, Stiles and his father stopped for a quick lunch at McDonald's, despite Stiles' protests. To appease him, John ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with no mayo and no bun. He also skipped fries, but stole of couple of his son's, laughing off the squawked objections. They ended the day by going home to listen to Christmas music while they wrapped the kids' presents. Neither of them were very adept at wrapping, but they did their best and no one had complained, so they kept doing it.

While they wrapped, Stiles put chicken and vegetables in the oven for dinner, the timer went off as they tied the last ribbon. John boxed up the gifts while Stiles plated up dinner and carried it into the living room to eat while they watched  _ Die Hard _ . He snapped a picture of his plate with the movie in the background, smiling when Derek commented that it looked better than what he was eating.

It only took a couple of seconds for _ AlphaMom _ , who Stiles assumed was Derek's mother, to comment if he had complaints about the way she cooked, he could make dinner himself which resulted in a string of comments begging for mercy. He recognized Derek's sisters and had a feeling the others were Hales as well; Derek had a huge family and they all decided to start following Stiles on Instagram. Cora even found him on Facebook.

"I think I've been adopted by the Hales," he commented to his father who chuckled. 

"I think they adopted you years ago," he said. "Talia and your mother were good friends. It's why she had Derek teach you to skate." He looked his son up and down. " _ Attempted _ to teach you to skate."

"Ha ha, old man," Stiles scoffed, surprised by the information. He'd always thought that Derek teaching him was a random thing; he wondered if Derek knew about their moms being friends. "Did they come to the funeral?"

"Talia and Andrew did," his father said. "The kids would've been at school at the time. Did you find Derek's Facebook?"

Stiles already had the app open to accept Cora's friend request so he searched her friends list and found Derek's. The profile picture was him in his hockey uniform, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, helmet under his arm, glare firmly in place. He scrolled through and saw that Derek wasn't very active, most of the posts were things people had tagged him in, but as he went through the photos he found one of Derek from high school, his arm around a cute little brunette holding a cello. He showed it to his father.

"That's the plant giver," he said. "And Paige Krasikeva, shame what happened to her." Stiles made a questioning noise. "Car accident after graduation. Drunk driver."

"That sucks," Stiles said as he continued going through photos, stopping on one from when Derek was probably in late middle school. He was standing with his sisters, a crowd of people around them. It was a selfie, Derek's arm stretched out of the frame, but it was what was behind him that caught Stiles' eye. He recognized the person holding a camera; it was Tara Graeme and she was taking the photo that Stiles had of him and his parents that he kept in his dorm room, although it was currently in his suitcase. He checked the caption and saw that it was a TBT post and labeled the Beacon Hills Fourth of July Celebration.

Grinning, Stiles saved the photo and then raced up the stairs to grab the picture out of his suitcase. Looking at it, he laughed as he tapped his finger against the backs of Derek and his sisters, the name Hale and a number 12 on the back of Derek's shirt but blurred just enough that he only recognized it because he was looking for it. Snapping a picture of the photo, he put it and Derek's picture into a collage before sending it to Derek. He'd debated posting it to Instagram but didn't want to without Derek's permission. He was settling next to his dad when his phone rang, Derek's name flashing across the screen. "Hey, dude."

"Don't call me 'dude,'" Derek greeted but he was laughing so Stiles didn't take him too seriously. "Where did you find that picture?"

"Which one?" Stiles asked.

"The one of me and my sisters," Derek said. "I thought I burned all evidence of myself in middle school."

"Um...your Facebook," Stiles said, giving his father a strange look.

"I totally forgot I posted that," he said. Silence stretched between them and his father got off the couch and indicated he was heading upstairs. "I can't believe we’re in each other's photo. What are the odds?"

"Well, Beacon Hills isn't that big," Stiles said, curling his legs underneath him and leaning further into the couch. "I'm actually surprised we didn't run into each other more often, although being three years apart in age, I guess it's understandable."

"I was also busy a lot with hockey," Derek pointed out. "I talked to my mom earlier and she said that she and your mom were friends."

"My dad told me, too. I guess they set up our skating lessons. I'm surprised we weren't having regular play dates." Stiles laughed. 

"Most of our playdates were with family," Derek explained. "We had a lot of family. Plus, I was a bit of a brat so if she'd suggested it, I would've cried and pouted until she gave up on the idea."

Stiles opened his mouth to tease Derek when he heard someone shout his name in the background. "I've got to go. Mom wants to go for a nighttime hike in the woods. It's a tradition."

"Have fun," Stiles said, smiling despite the phone call ending. "Talk to you soon."

"Definitely," Derek told him, ending the call and Stiles grabbed one of the throw pillows and buried his face in it, muffling a squeal.

The next few days passed in the typical craziness of the holidays. Stiles FaceTimed with Scott a few times and managed to sneak in a lunch with Jackson and Lydia to exchange gifts. He was thrilled with the new video game from Jackson and the book on the mathematics of hockey and other sports from Lydia. After the first couple of years exchanging gifts with his much wealthier friends, he was glad he'd convinced them to set a reasonable price limit on gifts. That didn't stop Lydia from sneaking a hundred dollar Amazon gift card into the book and acting like she didn't know what he was talking about when he'd objected. He also knew that if he tried to shove it in her purse, she'd just buy a two hundred dollar one and hack his account to add it.

He and his father spent Christmas Eve as they always did, the soup kitchen even more crowded than usual, making Stiles sad but he smiled when Derek, his mom and his sisters walked through the door, all dressed in ugly Christmas sweaters and ready to help. "I mentioned to my mom that you guys do this every year and we don't really have anything going until dinner tonight, so she thought we should help."

"The more the merrier," John said, hugging Talia and Stiles pretended not to see the tears in both of their eyes when the hug lasted longer than a normal greeting. 

He and Derek exchanged a look as Cora shoved them aside to serve the rolls Stiles had been handing out. Shrugging, he moved over to help Derek serve turkey. The day went by quickly and when the food started running low, Talia sent Derek and Stiles to get more food from the house, claiming that everyone at the dinner would be fine with pizza once they heard where the traditional food had gone. 

When it was time to go home, Derek reminded Stiles about Christmas Day at the house and he said he'd think about it, but that he was looking forward to collapsing on the couch and playing his new video game. Derek frowned but nodded and said he'd see him around, disappearing with Cora who glared at him over his shoulder as she climbed into the soccer mom vehicle Derek was driving. 

Stiles' dad loved the sweater he gave him and Stiles loved the new red hoodie that his dad gave him, along with gift cards for a couple of restaurants near WWU. The gift cards made him think about Coach's and he told his dad about the place, enjoying his laughter as he regaled him with tales of the insanity that was Coach. He promised his dad that he'd take him if he ever made it up to visit him on campus. John mentioned that Talia had said he was more than welcome to travel up with them the next time they went to see Derek play and Stiles tackled his dad in a hug at the good news; he didn’t think he could survive another five months without seeing him.

They ate their take-out sitting on the pull out sofa bed, watching the classic Christmas movies like  _ Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer  _ and  _ The Year Without Santa Claus. _ Cleaning up the mess they'd made they decided to sleep in the living room like they used to when Stiles was a kid waiting for Santa Claus. When he'd gotten old enough, Stiles was amazed to realize his parents had managed to put all of his gifts under the tree without waking him up. When he asked his dad about it he said it was Christmas magic; Stiles didn't have an argument against that.

John's alarm went off way too early and Stiles grumbled and complained but pulled himself out of bed shortly after his father went upstairs to shower. He had breakfast sandwiches and a thermos of coffee ready by the time John was dressed and racing out the door with a shouted farewell. Once he was gone, Stiles shot off holiday greetings to everyone he could think of before posting a photo of himself peeking out from beneath the covers with the caption,  _ "Not leaving this bed for anything today!"  _ He fell back to sleep shortly after posting, his phone gripped in his hand.

The sun was pretty high in the sky by the time Stiles woke up again, his phone was buzzing in his hand and he saw that it was his dad. "What's up, daddio?" he answered around a yawn.

"Are you still in bed?" John asked. "Not the best way to spend Christmas."

"It's how I always spend it," Stiles argued, groaning as he stretched and then scratching at the hair below his belly button. "You're working. Lydia is with Jackson at his parents' and I am not getting dressed in a suit to spend a holiday dinner with them. So, sleeping in, video games and leftovers for me."

John chuckled. "You do have an invitation to go somewhere today," he reminded Stiles who fell back against the pillows with a grunt when he remembered. "So, get up, get showered and get moving. There’s one of those pie kits I bought from the lacrosse team fundraiser last month in the freezer. Put it in the oven while you get ready. Take it with you."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you and Mrs. Hale are in cahoots," Stiles accused and John's laugh when he hung up on Stiles did nothing to sway his opinion on the matter. 

Scrolling through his phone, he saw that there were a few comments on his photo from Derek's family, all along the lines of threats to get him out of bed and over to their place. He scoffed at all of them, but then he got to Derek's which was just a frowning emoticon and he was crawling out of bed. He didn't want to think too long about why Derek's unhappiness was the thing to get him moving.

Just over an hour later, he was sitting in his Jeep and driving carefully towards Derek's house dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, hoping he wasn't underdressed. The pie was perched on the passenger seat along with a bottle of whiskey from his dad's cabinet that John had told him to take for Talia and a tray of cookies that he'd picked up at the grocery store which was unbelievably open on Christmas Day. He took the final turn up the driveway and had to flail a hand out to keep everything from pitching off the seat. He was thankful that the whiskey bottle was plastic when it slid past his fingertips and bounced off the floor mat before settling in the well in front of the passenger seat; that smell would’ve been fun to explain if he got himself pulled over by one of his father’s deputies.

Stopping the Jeep, he looked up to see Derek standing on the front porch in his pajamas, arms wrapped around himself and a small smile on his face. "Don't just stand there!" Stiles shouted. "Come help." Derek lifted a leg, gesturing to his bare foot and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Wuss!" 

He walked around the Jeep and opened the passenger door, yelping when there was a battle cry behind him and he turned to see Derek leap off the porch and make his way to the car by hopping from foot to foot so neither touched the cold driveway for very long. By the time Derek reached him, Stiles was leant against the side of the Jeep, holding his aching stomach from laughing so hard. 

"Who's the wuss now?" Derek challenged still bouncing from foot to foot as he waited for Stiles to empty the Jeep. 

"Not a wuss, but you are an idiot," Stiles told him, handing over the bottle of whiskey. "For your mom," he told him when Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise. Next Stiles pulled out the cookies and the pie which Derek grabbed out of his hands and started his hopping run back to the house. He waited on the porch for Stiles to catch up before holding the door open, giving a sweeping bow to usher Stiles in before him.

Stiles took two steps and froze when confronted with a large number of people all dressed in pajamas crowded into the foyer staring at him. He looked over his shoulder at Derek who was closing the door as if there was nothing unusual going on and Stiles turned back to look at the people swearing they'd moved closer while he wasn’t looking. His head was suddenly filled with David Tennant telling him, "Don't Blink. Blink and you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't Blink. Good Luck."

"Why isn't he wearing pajamas?" a small voice asked and Stiles looked down to a see a boy of around five staring up at him. "Everyone wears pajamas!"

"I...I didn't know," Stiles said, feeling lost as he looked back at Derek and then turned again to find Talia Hale standing as close to him as the child was and he yelped, nearly dropping the cookies but Talia took them and handed them off to Laura who opened the box and immediately pulled out a cookie, handing it to the small boy.

Once his hands were empty, Talia pulled him into a hug and ordered Derek to find Stiles some pajamas so he could be comfortable. "We're so glad you could make it," she told Stiles when she let go, raising a hand to his cheek. "You look so much like your mother."

"My dad told me you were friends. I'm sorry I don't remember," he said, the words thick with unshed tears.

"It was a long time ago. The important thing is you're with us now." Stiles let her pull him into another hug before Derek reappeared at the bottom of the steps going upstairs, a pair of pajama pants and a shirt in his hand. "Go get changed and come down to get something to eat." She pushed him off in Derek's direction and Stiles smiled as every person he passed between them touched him on the arm and introduced themselves; he hoped there wouldn't be a quiz later or he was screwed.

He followed Derek up the stairs and down the hall to an open doorway. "You can change in here," he offered and Stiles stepped inside, looking around. It was clearly Derek's bedroom, the walls plastered with hockey posters and the shelves lined with trophies. There were photos pinned up in different places and Stiles recognized Derek's sisters in some and who must have been Boyd in others as well as the infamous Erica. He stopped by the desk where a small bulletin board was set up with photos from when Derek was younger in his uniforms, bunny teeth even more prominent then than in the present.

One photo in the very corner stopped him and he lifted the edge of another to see it in its entirety. It was him and Derek from Stiles' only year playing hockey. They were sitting on the ice, backs against the boards talking. Stiles' face was downtrodden but Derek's was hopeful, his hands a blur of motion and Stiles could vaguely remember some of his pep talks whenever Stiles wanted to give up. He looked over his shoulder to see Derek still in the doorway, the tips of his ears pink.

"Did you know it was me on Instagram?" Derek nodded. "Why didn't you tell me you were  _ Wolfman12 _ ?"

"I didn't think you would remember me," he said, coming in to sit on the end of his bed and Stiles pulled out his desk chair to sit down, facing him. "It's been a long time and the couple of times I tried to talk to you when you got to Beacon Hills High, you didn't seem to know who I was."

"More like I couldn't believe the most popular guy in school was talking to me," Stiles said, smiling. "I remembered who you were, I just didn't think you remembered who I was."

"So, talking is something we should do," Derek said, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

"Hey, I have no problem talking. You're the one who goes growly with the murder brows," Stiles told him. 

"I don't have murder brows!" 

"Tell that to those two things on your forehead that threatened to rip my throat out with their teeth when I hit you with that snowball!" Stiles argued, laughing before he could get to the end of the sentence.

"Okay, first of all, even if my inanimate object eyebrows did threaten you, they don't have teeth and second of all, the only reason I was chasing you was because you dropped your scarf!" Derek said, reaching up to pick something from around one of his bedposts and handing it over. 

Stiles took the item and gasped; it was his scarf that his mother had made him. As he ran his hands over it, he frowned. "What happened to it?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Boyd's dog took a liking to it and I think her claws tore it a little." Derek's face was ashen as he said the words and Stiles swallowed back his tears knowing it wasn't Derek's fault. "I, um, tried to..." He trailed off and reached under his bed to pull out a messily wrapped package and shoved it at him.

Stiles laid his mom's scarf across his lap and took the package, squeezing it gently, listening to the paper crumble around whatever soft mass was inside of it. It was about fifteen inches around and as he peeled back the Avengers Christmas paper, it revealed the soft blue yarn that Stiles had admired at the craft store. Once the paper was gone, he unrolled the item in his hand to find a scarf extremely similar to the one his mom had made him. The edges weren't straight and there were some twisted stitches in places but Stiles had a feeling there was a reason for that.

"Did you make this for me?" 

Derek nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Your mom tried to teach me to knit when I was a kid but I never really got the hang of it so when Duchess wrecked yours, I started watching videos and I think I did alright."

Stiles lifted the scarf and wrapped it around his neck, biting into his lip to stop the tears that sprang to his eyes from falling. "It's more than alright. It's perfect."

"Liar," Derek said, finally looking him fully in the face and reaching out a hand to brush away a traitorous tear with his thumb. "You should get dressed so we can go get some food and play video games. Jared got..."

He trailed off when Stiles reached up to take the hand that was brushing his cheek, twisting their fingers together and squeezing gently. He looked into Derek's eyes, searching for an objection to what he wanted to do, counting on Derek to have somehow learned to read his mind. When Derek just looked back at him for a moment before his tongue ran over his lower lip, Stiles took his chance and leaned forward.

The kiss was off-center but soft and Stiles couldn't have imagined a better first kiss to share with his lifelong crush, especially knowing that he hadn't been the only one feeling something between them. They parted their lips to deepen the kiss when a young voice shouted, "Ewwww. They're kissing!"

Jumping apart, the small boy from earlier was standing in the doorway with one hand over his eyes and the other over his mouth. Derek stood up and hurried to pick him up under one arm. "Get changed and meet us downstairs," he told Stiles as he closed the door behind himself.

Stiles stayed where he was for several minutes, staring at the closed door and running a hand over his lower lip in amazement. When he was done reliving the kiss from every possible angle, he stood to change into the pajamas that Derek had handed him, surprised to see they looked relatively new and unworn. When he shook out the pants he saw they had the WWU logo on the right leg and fit him just loose enough to be comfortable but not too loose that they would slip down his hips to show off his Captain America boxers. He unbuttoned his shirt and laid it on Derek's bed next to his jeans before pulling the shirt Derek had given him over his head. Looking down he saw the WWU Hockey logo on the front. Smiling, he draped the scarf Derek had made for him over his shoulders, wanting to keep it close. 

As he turned he caught sight of something in the mirror. Stopping and angling himself, his cheeks burned as he saw Derek's name and number on the back. There was a knock on the door and he looked up as Derek peeked inside. "Getting possessive already?" he teased, smiling when Derek blushed and took another step into the room, shutting the door behind him and crossing to Stiles.

"It was really my only clean shirt," he told Stiles. "I have to do laundry tonight."

"So, it wasn't a statement of claim?" Stiles tried to hide the twinge of disappointment that ran through him at the thought he might have misread everything despite the kiss earlier.

"Did...did you want it to be?" Derek's voice was soft as he stepped closer to Stiles, reaching out to tug gently on the ends of the scarf. Stiles gave a small smile and shrugged before the smile grew and he nodded. "Then it is," Derek said taking another step, pulling a bit harder on the scarf so Stiles stumbled against his chest, recovering and wrapping his arms around Derek's neck before pursing his lips in request for a kiss which Derek granted.

After a few more kisses, Stiles grabbed his phone off his jeans and handed it to Derek. "Take a picture," he said, pointing to the mirror. Chuckling, Derek lined up the shot and then buried his face in Stiles' neck as he took the photo and handed the phone back to Stiles who turned in Derek's arms to look at it, leaning his back into Derek's chest, giggling as he nipped at his neck. After a couple of taps on the screen, Stiles said, "Done," and held the phone up for Derek to see his latest Instagram post.

The post was of the photo of them as kids that Stiles had snuck a picture of after discovering it and the one Derek had just taken. The caption:  _ "The Past and the Present."  _ Stiles had tagged Derek in the photo and hoped he didn't mind but he pulled his phone out of his pajama pockets and immediately liked the photo and commented:  _ "Took a long time but I finally convinced you that you were mine." _

"Perfect," Stiles said, smiling against Derek's lips as both of their phones started buzzing in their hands until they had to stop kissing to look at them. 

All of the comments were congratulatory, but one from a username neither of them recognized stopped them both in their tracks.  _ ClaudiaintheClouds commented: "IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME!"  _ and when they clicked on the username it took them to an error page, the account did not exist. 

"You don't think?" Derek said, looking at Stiles and then back at the phone.

"It couldn't possibly..." Stiles said, scrolling back up to the photo he'd posted of his mom on the anniversary of her death that was captioned:  _ Claudia Stilinski _ (née Gajos)  _ An angel in the clouds smiling down on me every day. I miss you, mom. _

"I guess we have her blessing," Stiles said, smiling down at the photo of his mom and allowing the tears to fall as Derek pulled him into a hug. "Something I didn't even know I needed until I got it." He leaned back to look into Derek's face, also tracked with tears. "Just like you."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm josjournal over on tumblr. Come say 'Hi!'


End file.
